


Friends

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s01e13 Beyond the Sea, F/M, Friendship, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-31
Updated: 2005-12-31
Packaged: 2019-04-28 04:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14441595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: Mulder is still flat on his back recovering fromthe gunshot wound.  We wouldn't want Scully to be bored,would we?





	Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** They certainly aren't mine; if they were, they'd  
>  be having more fun, and I wouldn't have to save up for a new  
> car! Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the rest belong to FOX  
> Networks and 1013; I'm just borrowing them for a little fun  
> and games.I promise I'll bring them back on time and  
> unharmed. and they won't remember a thing.

  
Author's notes: They certainly aren't mine; if they were, they'd  
be having more fun, and I wouldn't have to save up for a new  
car! Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the rest belong to FOX  
Networks and 1013; I'm just borrowing them for a little fun  
and games.I promise I'll bring them back on time and  
unharmed. and they won't remember a thing.   


* * *

* * *

"I'm afraid. I'm afraid to believe." 

Mulder moved his IV line away; the movement she had made, to come and sit this close, thrilled him in ways that his body was currently in no condition to notice. Her words stunned him; he could not imagine her being truly afraid. 

"You couldn't face that fear?" he asked hesitantly. "Even if it meant never knowing what your father wanted to tell you?" 

She smiled that amazing smile that always made his toes curl. Right now, he couldn't even feel his toes, but he blamed that, and his utter inability to engage her in witty repartee, on the morphine flowing so lazily through his bloodstream from that very IV that she had nearly pulled out of his arm. 

That was his best clue that she was severely shaken. Earlier in the week he had seen her scold two different nurses for sloppy technique and thoughtlessness. 

She let her eyes drop. "But I do know." 

He was awestruck. She looked so utterly serene that the only analogy he could find was a portrait of a medieval Madonna that he had seen in Oxford. 

"How?" he had to ask, helpless before her composure. 

She gave the impression of a shrug without actually moving that much. "He was my father." 

Mulder was actually grateful to hear the ever-so-slight break in her voice; it reassured him that she was really human and not an angel. 

Then the words she had said registered, and he could only stare at her, touch her shoulder in rote response, speechless before such faith. 

She was so totally confident in her father's love that she did not need his message from The Other Side. Mulder had no personal referent for that. His own relationship with his father might superficially have resembled Scully's with her father, but qualitatively they were obviously worlds apart. If their roles had been reversed here, he would have declined to hear his father's message; he would have known it would be scathing and recriminating. 

The silence between them was as comfortable as always; it reassured him that even if she thought he had been an idiot to get shot like this, she was probably going to forgive him for it. 

So he was dismayed when she stood up, avoiding his eyes, and brushed at her suit, straightening it. 

"I should go," she said softly. "You need to rest." 

"I've been asleep for days," he protested weakly. "Don't go so soon..." 

She smiled at him gently. "You need to rest, Mulder." 

Then he remembered his plans. "Can you do me a favor, first?" 

She was puzzled. "Possibly. What did you have in mind?" 

"Sign those papers on the table?" 

She moved over there and read the cover sheet swiftly. Then she turned to face him, frowning. "Mulder, are you serious? You want to grant me your Medical Power of Attorney?" 

He nodded, studying her expression desperately, trying to read her, to understand her. 

"Why? Your parents are easily reachable..." 

He shuddered. "They're on there if you're not available; I just want you on there as the primary. My father and I haven't spoken civilly to one another for years, Scully. My mom likes to chemically deaden her personal pain. I can't really trust either of them. I know I can trust you." 

She was studying him as intently as he was staring at her. Time seemed to stretch... and he had time to wonder what would happen if it broke. Then she picked up the pen. Suddenly he could breathe again. "Thanks, Scully. Wait till I get a witness in here." He pushed the call button. The shift nurse hurried in. 

"Mr Mulder? What's wrong?" 

He grinned at her weakly. "Nuthin', Kesta. She agreed; would you witness it? And then log it in my chart?" 

She smiled at him. "I certainly will. And congratulations. I think you're going to be very happy together." 

"I know someone who can treat you for those delusions of yours, Kesta," he retorted. But he watched them both carefully as Scully signed the form and then Kesta added her signature under Scully's. Kesta dated it, and then moved to the counter on the left side of his cubicle. There she opened a large looseleaf notebook. She logged the incident and tucked one copy of the form into a pocket inside the front cover. She gave the original back to Scully. 

Mulder let himself go limp with relief, sighed and closed his eyes. 

"Mulder?" Scully sounded worried. 

"'M okay," he slurred. 

"You're exhausted," she observed. "Go to sleep. I'll be back in a few hours." 

He could not fight it; she was correct. He was barely aware of it when she took the control and laid the bed out not-quite-flat, and then tucked the blankets in snugly around him. 

He never heard her leave. 

* * *

Dana Scully lay in bed in her hotel, still marveling at what had happened. He seemed awed that she had not needed to hear Ahab's message. His relationship with his own father obviously contributed to his inability to truly understand the one she had had with Ahab. 

She wished, suddenly, that she had invited Mulder to dinner that last day. She would have loved to have watched Ahab and Mulder stalk stiff-legged around one another, sizing one another up, evaluating one another's strength and worth. 

"I think you would have liked Mulder, Ahab," she whispered. "I know he would have made it difficult, but you would have liked him." 

Satisfied, she settled back into the pillow. She was just dropping off to sleep when the phone rang. 

It was the hospital. She was dressed and in the car again in seven minutes. 

* * *

Four days later, Dana Scully was exhausted but cautiously pleased. 

The phone call had been from Kesta, who had sworn that Mulder had waited until she was safely away before revealing a raging infection in his leg. His fever had spiked not an hour after she had left. By the time she had arrived they had whisked Mulder off into surgery to determine the extent of the infection. 

It was not an unanticipated complication, and the antibiotics were adjusted to meet the challenge of the bacteria revealed in the tests, and the dosages pushed very high. Surgical intervention cleaned up the worst of the infection at the site, but cooling blankets had been necessary for more than two days. Only now, two days after the fever had broken, was Mulder back on the road to recovery again. 

He had obviously lost ground. The infection had drained him of vitality and energy. When admitted to the hospital, he had been a healthy man with a badly damaged leg. Now he was significantly weakened and it grieved Scully to see him so reduced. 

The bed was one click above absolutely flat. Both his forearms were tied to boards, and there was an IV in each: one for antibiotics and one for morphine. He had been on a ventilator for 30 hours, and only this morning had the high-volume oxygen mask been replaced with a high-volume cannula. 

Most frighteningly, however, he did not move. 

He was not unconscious; he had blinked his eyes open and looked around, puzzled and groggy, just after she had finished her breakfast this morning. He had answered a couple of the orientation questions and then fallen asleep again. 

He had been sleeping for hours, now, and Scully found the sight of him so still was unnerving. 

"Wake up and talk to me, Mulder," she whispered. 

He rolled his head toward her. "Whattaya wanna talk about?" 

She smiled at him and scooted her chair closer to him. She could not really take his hand; the boards and IVs were in the way. But she slid her fingers under his, and was rewarded with the weak movements of his fingers trying to return the gesture. 

"Well, the first question is, how do you feel?" 

He grimaced, and looked away. "Filthy, exhausted, an' my leg hurts like blazes. How 'bout you?" 

She reached for the switch on the IV and gave him a jolt of morphine. She watched as he relaxed a little when the drug hit, and his face tipped back toward her. 

"Thanks." 

"You can do that for yourself, you know." 

He shook his head once. "Can't reach it." 

"I can fix that." She did so. "Hit it whenever you want; it's designed to give you some when you want it, as well as the steady trickle. It won't let you OD." 

He pushed it experimentally. "Today," he said softly, "I wouldn't care if it did." 

"I couldn't handle another funeral this month, Mulder," she said evenly, fighting very hard to keep her expression calm. 

Startled, he tried to lift one hand to her. "I was kidding, Scully." 

She put her hand over his, stilling his efforts to move. 

"I wasn't serious; I promise." 

She took a deep breath. "You scared me." 

He studied her through his eyelashes; it was hard to stay awake. "I didn't think anything could scare you." 

"You were on Death's Doorstep for three days, pounding to be let in. I just got you back; don't make jokes about going back there." 

He was startled again. "Three days? I slept for three days?!" 

"You weren't asleep. Your leg is infected; an hour after I said goodbye you spiked at 104.7. You were unconscious on a vent for two days. Then the antibiotics started actually defeating the infection and the fever finally broke. You were extubated when you woke up this morning. Do you remember that?" 

He frowned. "Kinda. I hate that part. It was really scary?" He wanted to not believe her, but how could he? She never lied. 

She nodded, biting her lip to keep back tears. 

He was convinced. "I'm sorry, Scully. How'm I doin' now?" 

She smiled, and it was such a fragile smile that he knew she had some emotional investment in him that he had never suspected might be real. He had wanted it to be so... but this was his first real confirmation. 

"You're conscious and rational; that's a big step," she told him. 

"You said I was delirious?" he asked, waiting until she nodded. "I sort of remember nightmares... Did I make an absolute fool of myself?" 

She shook her head. "No. You were intubated; no vocalizations." 

He let himself relax a little. "So, what's the plan, now?" 

"Once the infection's on the run, and your temp's closer to normal, you're graduating to step-down. Once you're on your feet, you graduate to a regular room until they find you a placement in a rehab center." 

"Rehab? Why? Why can't I go home?" 

She could see the terror in his eyes. "Mulder. Relax. Your leg is healing and it will be fine. In fact, according to the surgeon who did the work, the femur will be stronger than before. You have every expectation of a full recovery and a return to field agent status. But it won't be right away." 

"How long, then?" 

"Bones take about two months for minimal healing. Your surgeon used some beautiful pieces of hand-carved sterile coral screwed into place to replace the parts of your femur that the bullet shattered. It's nearly one-hundred percent pure calcium, and it invites bone and blood vessel growth into itself because of all the irregularities. In six months, he says, that bone will be better than new." 

"Am I going to be in this rehab place for six months?!" He knew she could tell how scared he was; her fingers were stroking his forearm around the IV and her voice was firm but very gentle. 

"No, you'll only be there until your wound is healed over and doesn't need professional dressing and monitoring, and until you can walk again." 

"What?!" His voice was a terrified gasp. 

"Mulder, I'm sorry! I'm not saying this very well, am I? Relax." She glanced up at the monitor. "Calm down a little, or they're going to throw me out of here." 

He worked at it for a minute, breathing slowly. When his numbers had settled down, Scully faced him again. "I'm sorry. I'm explaining this badly. Your leg's broken, and the bullet did a lot of damage to the muscles and ligaments around the break. You understand that, right?" 

He nodded warily, his eyes riveted on her. 

"All right. If you try to move, now, it's going to be extremely painful, and you might damage the healing muscles if you move carelessly, or if you flinch at the wrong moment, or, God forbid, if you fall. At the rehab center they are going to monitor how well you're healing, gradually build up the strength in those muscles, and get you walking safely. That's all I meant, Mulder. I promise." 

He swallowed hard. "You're sure?" 

"I'm sure," she nodded. "I've seen your x-rays, and I read your chart. I had a long talk with the surgeons who worked on you. We had a preliminary discharge planning meeting this morning after you fell asleep. Consensus was that you'll be in step- down, out of ICU, in a day or two, and in a regular room a day after that. We're already looking for an appropriate rehab center." 

"What're the criteria?" 

She smiled. "Close enough to home that I can come see you after work," was her answer. "None of this is coming out of your sick-time bank, because you were IOD. I wasn't." 

"Thank God!" he interrupted her. 

Her smile deepened a bit, and she continued. "And I only have three years with the Bureau. I don't have nearly as much sick time saved up as you." 

He frowned suddenly. "Wait a minute. You said I was out of it for three days? Why are you still here? Aren't you already supposed to be back in DC?" 

She shook her head. "AD Skinner told me to stay here and be his liaison to the hospital as long as you were critical. Once you're transferred, we can't justify it any longer, so I'll have to report back. So we're on waiting lists; we just have to wait for a bed to become available." 

Slowly, Mulder relaxed. They talked about other things. When his meal was delivered, she elevated the head of the bed to make it easier, and then fed him. He actually managed almost half the broth and Jell-O before he fell asleep in the middle of a sentence. 

Scully smiled, lowered the bed again, and tucked him in. 

* * *

Mulder recovered with surprising speed. He was moved out of the ICU the next morning, and Scully stayed with him all day, keeping his spirits up as best she could. She was reluctant to leave him that evening, but he insisted. 

"I'm okay, Scully. Really. Go back to the hotel. I'm just going to try to sleep; you may as well sleep in a bed, too. Those chairs are not comfortable for sleeping." 

She wanted to go, but she did not want to leave him alone. There had been shadows in his eyes all day; she knew he was afraid of what might happen in the next few days, and she did not want him brooding about it. 

"All right," she conceded. "But I want you to call me if you can't sleep. We can pretend we're home and you're making your usual 2am call after a case." 

He smiled faintly at her, knowing that she was trying to normalize the situation as much as she could. "And you aren't going to call the desk and send me a candy-striper with a sedative?" 

She shook her head. "I probably will, and you know it. But I don't want you lying here all by yourself torturing yourself with all the what-ifs and maybes." 

His smile faded. "I can't help some of that, Scully. This is deadly serious." 

"Yes, it is," she nodded. "But there's no point in borrowing trouble. Just follow your doctor's orders, and try not to fret about the stuff you can't do anything about." 

"I'll try..." 

She smiled, and tucked him in, made sure he could reach the remote control for the television. "That's all I can ask. Good night, Mulder." 

"Good night." 

She heard the television click on behind her, and knew he would be calling her. 

* * *

Mulder was drowsing, knowing he was floating on the painkillers but too tired to really be concerned. There was a dark and nasty nightmare hovering at the edge of his consciousness and he really did not want to free it, so he was trying not to fall asleep. 

It was a doomed effort, but he could try. 

The room lights were dimmed and the television was on mute; he knew that meant he had been asleep and one of the nurses had visited without disturbing him. He appreciated that thoughtfulness, but the idea amused him when he considered it. He had always attracted female attention: his physical attributes assured that and his manners and wit had made it easy for him to get the attention of any woman he wanted. The problems had always come later. He had had hundreds of first dates, but second dates had been hard to come by. Third dates had been as rare as hen's teeth. 

It was once he started to actually talk to them that all sane, sensible and intelligent women and he was interested in dating no other kind fled from him with all possible speed. He pondered doing a foggy-minded analysis of what they saw that scared them so, but he was interrupted by a gasp of shock from the doorway. 

He rolled his head on the pillow, lacking the strength to lift it. He grinned groggily at his visitor. "Hey. How'd you get here?" 

Melvin Frohike stepped gingerly into the room. "I didn't mean to bother you, Mulder. I... We just got worried." 

Mulder looked past him curiously, but the oldest of the Lone Gunmen seemed to be alone. "How did you find me?" 

Frohike came to stand by the bed, taking in the machinery and the IVs and the haggard face of his friend. "You should have been home the day after the execution," he answered diffidently. "When you didn't call we started looking for you. We couldn't find out enough online, so I volunteered to do the recon." 

"Where're Byers and Langly?" 

"Out in the van with the monitoring equipment. Are you okay? What happened?!" 

Mulder relaxed, enervated by the warmth of real friendship. "I got shot. I lost a lot of blood. Then it got infected. This is my first night in a regular room." 

Frohike's eyes widened. "You'd been in ICU since the shooting?! 'Til today?! My God, Mulder!" 

Mulder shrugged a little. "I'm drugged to the eyeballs, Fro'. I just sleep. Occasionally I wake up and eat, or talk to Scully. Then I have to sleep again." 

Frohike drifted casually around as they talked, but Mulder knew he was memorizing the types of equipment and the names of all the drugs, their manufacturers and the nurses who administered them. 

"Sleeping's good for you, man. Even when you aren't shot." 

"You're a nag, Fro'." 

"You need someone to nag you, Mulder. You don't take care of yourself." 

Mulder shrugged minutely. "I've got you. And Scully's been here practically every minute." 

Frohike grinned. "Ah, yes, your lovely partner. When am I going to get to meet this paragon of the fair sex, Mulder?" 

"Never, if I have my way." 

"Spoilsport." 

"Yep." 

"So when are you coming home, Mulder? You've missed cheese steak night twice already." 

Mulder was falling asleep. "I dunno. Days. Weeks..." 

"They aren't going to keep you here till springtime...?!" 

"I dunno," he shrugged again. "Scully says I'm going to a rehab center, soon. Home seems a long way away, right now." 

"Okay." Frohike paused, clearly thinking hard. "Do you want me to send your mail here? We can't pay your bills for you..." 

Mulder eyed him. "You want me to believe that you or one of your partners-in-crime can't forge my name on a check?" 

Frohike had the grace to look embarrassed. "We'd rather not tip our hand, Mulder. It'll be clear, if anyone checks, that someone forged your name: you're here. We could set you up for automatic payments; we can do that online." 

Mulder sighed exhaustedly. "No. Send it all to me. Scully'll handle it. I gave her my POA." 

Frohike gaped at him, shocked. "Mulder! What were you thinking?!" 

Mulder blinked at him sleepily. "I was thinking that she's an MD and she won't let them hurt me, here." 

Frohike slowly relaxed. "Okay. I can see that. But you just gave her the medical POA, right?" 

Mulder shook his head. "No. Everything." 

"Everything?! Mulder, you could build your own wing on this hospital! Are you insane?!" 

"There's not that much, Fro'. And she has no idea, so she won't look. But if I die or disappear..." He let his voice trail off. 

Frohike nodded slowly. "I'll get one of the guys to messenger the stuff to you, here, tomorrow. I don't want to risk connecting you or your partner to us." 

"Or vice versa?" Mulder grinned. "Thanks, Fro'. I'm glad to see you." 

"Are you really all right?" 

Mulder closed his eyes and rolled his head to indicate the negative. "I'm not in the same time zone as all right, Fro'. But Scully says I will be." 

"You really trust her, don't you?" 

Mulder opened his eyes to meet his friend's worried gaze. "Yeah, Fro'. I do. She's honest and innocent. It's a deadly combination." 

Frohike nodded slowly. "Absolutely. Well, don't let your guard down too far..." 

"'Kay. 'M sorry, Fro' 'm fallin' 'sleep..." 

"It's okay, man. I gotta get outta here, anyway: visiting hours were over a long time ago." 

"'Kay..." 

"'Bye, Mulder. Be well." 

But the cottony darkness had swept over him and he could not respond. Mulder did not hear Frohike quietly step outside. 

* * *

The next morning she was late, and he was worried. 

He had called her, twice, in fact. The first time was the requisite call so he could say that he had done what she had asked. The second time he had done it almost before he was fully awake from the nightmare that had sent him reaching desperately for the phone. She had calmed him down and re- established his connection with reality, which had been all askew because of the dream combined with his unfamiliar surroundings and the sedative they had given him after the first call. 

He ate his breakfast alone, eager to make his first forays into solid food. Warm oatmeal, apple juice, and decaffeinated instant coffee was not what he would have ordered, but it really did taste good. He was surprised at how good it tasted, and he actually ate it all. 

But once the food was gone, he went back to worrying about his partner. He refused to call her again; he did not want her to think he could not cope with his situation without her. 

The nurse who came in after the tray had been collected smiled at him as he introduced himself. "Hi. I'm Jerry, and you're mine, today, Mr Mulder." 

Mulder made a face. "Swell. What's on the agenda for the day?" 

Jerry grinned a little wider. "I think you'll like it." 

* * *

It had been the morning from hell. Her hotel-supplied alarm clock had failed to go off at all, so she had overslept by more than an hour. Then, in the middle of her shower, she had run out of hot water. She had managed to get dressed and out to her car... only to find that, along with more than a dozen others, her car had been vandalized overnight. Her car had a broken rear window and two flat tires. 

She had called the rental company for a replacement car, and made sure that her name and her car's registration were included on the police report. 

She was three and a half hours late getting to the hospital. She had tried to call Mulder several times, but the number she had was ringing at the nurse's station. They said they were forwarding her messages, so she settled for that; at least he knew she was trying to get there. 

When she came up to his floor, she stopped at the desk, and was given a message that had come in for her. When she got to Mulder's room in the step down ward outside the ICU, she was stunned speechless. 

His bed was empty; there were voices coming from the bathroom attached to his private room. One of the voices was Mulder's and he sounded cheerful. This made very little sense, but she did not want to barge in on her male partner while he was being assisted in a hospital toilet. 

Then he was coming out, and Scully gasped. 

Mulder was walking. 

Yes, he was using a walker, and he was being flanked by two large and powerful looking orderlies, who were obviously there to catch him if he faltered. One of them was keeping the IV stand behind him from tugging at the needles in his arms. 

Mulder was walking. His head was down as he concentrated on where to put his feet. As he got closer to her, she could see the tension in his face. 

She must have made a sound, because two steps from the bed he suddenly looked up and his smile was blinding. 

"Hi, Scully." 

She had to bite her lip to keep from tearing up; he had been depressed and scared when she had last seen him. Now he was practically incandescent with happiness, all because he had managed to walk across his room to the toilet, use it, and get back. 

"I see today is a good day," she observed gravely. 

He stood up off the walker, leaving it on the floor but not leaning on it. "Today is a _great_ day," he agreed. "You're late." 

"My day started badly," she shrugged. "This is wonderful." 

Mulder took a step, intentionally testing his balance. He wavered slightly, and Jerry caught him. 

"Steady." 

"I'm okay, Jer'. How do you want to do this?" 

Scully stayed by the door as Jerry explained the plan for getting Mulder back into bed without putting any undue stress on his damaged leg. He just watched as Mulder turned and sat down on the bed. From the expression on Mulder's face, that motion had flexed muscles in his damaged thigh that were letting him know he had gone too far. 

Scully wanted to dash forward and intervene, but she saw that Jerry had things well in hand. She fought down a surge of rage that two orderlies would have this kind of responsibility. She resolved to have the hide off the nursing supervisor, but it never occurred to her to yell at the orderlies; they were just doing what they had been told to do, and they _had_ made Mulder very happy... 

Jerry pushed the button to give Mulder a jolt of painkiller, and waited a minute until some of the tension melted out of Mulder's body. "Is that better, Mr Mulder?" he inquired as he pushed the walker out of the way. 

"Yeah." 

"Okay. Just hold still and let us do the work." 

Mulder let his eyes close, and Scully, watching him like a hawk, saw that sweat was matting his hair against his face. "No arguments, Jerry. I think I just hit the wall." 

"It's about time!" the big man chuckled softly. "You're not supposed to be able to do this, yet, you know." 

Mulder grinned proudly, but he did not open his eyes. It seemed to be taking all the energy he had to hold himself upright. 

Jerry waited until Paul was properly situated on the far side of the bed. Then Paul took hold of Mulder's body, and Jerry slid his forearm under Mulder's knees. 

"Ready?" 

Paul and Mulder both nodded. 

"Three, two, one... lift." 

They lifted Mulder high enough to turn him and get him properly on the bed, and laid him down gently, minimizing the stress on his wounded leg. 

When they had settled him, made sure that there were no folds of fabric under him and that his IVs were straight, Jerry pulled the blanket up and covered him. 

"There you go, Mr Mulder. You okay?" 

Slowly, Mulder let himself relax, realizing belatedly that he had been holding his breath against excruciating pain that had not manifested. 

"Yeah," he answered. "Thanks a lot, guys. That was great." 

Paul grinned. "Roller coasters are great. This was just very good." 

Mulder grinned at him. 

"Just remember what Doctor Lorac said," Jerry reminded him. "Buzz us if you feel weird, or different, or if the pain gets worse. Don't be shy about it." 

"Okay." 

Scully stood aside, and noticed, as the two men left the room, that Jerry's ID tag showed that he was a nurse. All her simmering anger at their behavior --how dare two orderlies do this without approval and supervision?!-- vanished. They had authorization from this Dr Lorac, and any RN was certainly capable of handling a chore like this. 

She shut the door behind them and came into the room. Mulder was motionless except for rapid respiration. He looked a little pale to her, too. 

"Mulder? Are you all right?" 

He did not open his eyes. "I'm okay," he panted. "Just... " 

She gave him another dose of painkiller. "I know you are. In fact, I'm really impressed. I thought they wouldn't even consider trying to get you up for at least a few more days. This is excellent progress." 

He was grinning, still, although she could see strain showing around his eyes as he pushed the button on the remote and elevated his bed until he was sitting up comfortably. "Jerry was telling me about rehab," he told her, opening his eyes to watch her. "He used to work in one. He says I'll probably be on parallel bars right away, walking every day. It's like being in training." 

Scully relaxed as he chattered on. Her mind automatically compensated for the painkiller's effect on his mind and fine motor control, and she could hear his happiness, his excitement, and knew that his relief was as great as her own at this sign of real progress. 

She resolved to do something really nice for Jerry. 

When she could get a word in edgewise, she interrupted Mulder's excited plans. "Mulder? Promise me something?" 

He stopped and studied her for a moment. "What?" 

"Don't ever try to get out of bed without help? If you fall you could hurt yourself very badly." 

He grinned at her. "You want me to follow orders?!" he asked, his tone exaggeratedly incredulous. 

"Yes, I do," she said, trying to keep from smiling at his infectious happiness. "You understand the repercussions if you fail to do so and your luck runs out." 

"Scully, I have the luck of Teela Brown." 

She recognized the reference to Larry Niven's RINGWORLD. "If you did, you wouldn't be here at all, Mulder. The bullet would have missed you." 

He made a face at her. "Don't give me worst-case scenarios now, Scully. I just walked! I got out of this damned bed and I walked!" 

She yielded the point and smiled back at him. "Yes, you did. And it was great to see you up." 

His eyebrows did a Groucho at her, and his grin got wider. 

Scully blushed and looked away. 

Mulder chuckled and let himself relax. "So, why were you late? You had the morning from hell?" 

She settled down in the chair beside his bed, and put her feet up on the mattress beside his. "Yes, I had the morning from hell." She explained it all to him, and he was amused. Then she broke the news. "Your rehab bed is ready. You're going to Oakwoods. It's about halfway between my house and my parents'." 

He leaned back a little. "I think... I think that makes me nervous." 

"Going to rehab? Why?" 

He shivered. "Well, I've kinda adapted to being here. Moving someplace else means I've got to do that all over again, figure out a whole new system, get to know a whole new set of people..." 

Scully grinned at him as she set out her lunch on his tray-table. He was clearly recovering well, although the morphine was still suppressing his thinking processes to some extent. 

When she handed him a can of 7-UP he sighed and lodged his required complaint. "No Pepsi? No Coke, even? Who do I have to kill to get some caffeine around here?" 

"You can't have any, period," she told him, as she had every day when he whined about the available beverages. "We want you to sleep whenever you get tired. Caffeine interferes with that." 

"Whatever." He reached for the morphine switch again, and pretended he was just adjusting the way it lay, hoping she did not notice when he pushed the button. 

She knew what he was doing, but did not comment. 

"So, when am I leaving?" 

"You'll be there by dinnertime, tonight." 

"So soon?" He was startled at feeling some regret at leaving this hospital... and only then did he realize that he did not even know the name of it. 

"Don't want someone else to grab that bed." 

He sighed. "So, how am I getting there? I obviously can't drive. Your car?" 

She snorted. "Dreamer. Ambulance transport to a helipad a few miles from here. Medical helicopter to Maryland, then another ambulance from that helipad to Oakwoods." 

He frowned, puzzled. "Why a helicopter? I'm not that bad off, am I?" 

She heard the note of fear in his voice and smiled reassuringly. "No, you aren't. But the trip is nearly three hundred miles, Mulder; you don't have the strength to spare to handle a road trip right now. Besides, every time the ambulance hits a bump or changes lanes, it's going to rock. You're going to be heavily medicated, probably including a sedative. You might be able to sleep through the entire experience; I'd recommend that." 

He chewed on his lip a little. "Do I get to sit up, at least?" 

"Possibly, but you will be on a litter. I recommend you let them put you out." 

He was frowning and she knew he was marshaling an argument, so she changed the subject then, asking him about his morning's activities. She finished her lunch on much more companionable topics. Just as she was finishing, they brought Mulder his; this time he got scrambled eggs and toast, grape jelly, orange juice and more decaffeinated coffee. It was cold, but it was food, and he was suddenly ravenous; Scully's vegetable sub from Subway had not really tempted him. 

About an hour after they finished lunch, the nurse came in with a syringe, and Mulder watched as she injected it into the morphine IV. She disconnected the antibiotic IV altogether, although she did not remove the needle. She sealed the tubing and taped it all down to his arm. 

"You can do without that for a few hours," she explained with a smile. "We'll leave the morphine, though." 

"Thanks, Moira." He was getting nervous again. He had vague memories of the ambulance ride that had brought him here: terrible pain warring with blind panic as he fought to breathe, the EMTs swapping their tersely coded instructions, and Scully's tear-filled voice urging him to hang on, to stay with her, to not leave her alone... 

He glanced up at his partner. "Are you coming with me?" 

"No." 

He felt a sudden chill. "Why not?" 

"Skinner called last night. He wants me to report in. If I leave now, maybe I can finish the meeting with him and join you for dinner at Oakwoods. Is that okay?" 

"I guess it'll... have... t' be..." The sedative hit him abruptly, and he had to lay his head back against the pillow so he would not lose his balance. His eyes closed of their own volition. 

"Mulder?" 

"Good drugs..." He knew he slurred it a little; his tongue felt thick. Her hands were on his, then, cool and gentle, and he tried to hold on. But her fingers slipped through his grasp as if she were a ghost. "Scully...?" 

"I'll meet you at Oakwoods, Mulder," she said quietly. "I won't be long." 

He wanted to look up at her, to see her, but he could not pry his eyelids open. His last thought, before he drowned in the familiar cottony darkness, was that he thought he had felt her lips brush his. 

Or had he? 

  * "Agent Scully. Welcome back." 



AD Skinner was his usual self, punctilious but just uncomfortable enough in her presence that she knew he used those mannerisms to shield himself. 

"It's nice to be back, sir," she gave him the correct response. 

"Sit." 

She did so, feeling the loneliness bite at her with unexpected ferocity: Mulder's chair, beside her, was so very vacant. 

"How is Agent Mulder doing, Agent Scully?" 

This information she had, and she could rattle it off without thinking about it much. She did so, summarizing his treatment and progress since the last time she had done so for him. 

"He was transferred to rehab a few hours ago, sir," she concluded the recitation. "They'll start weaning him off the IV painkillers, supervise the healing of the wounds, and get him back into shape." 

"How long will he be there?" 

"Considering that earlier this week we thought he was going to die on us, he's made remarkable progress since. They anticipate a month in rehab, then discharge for a monitored convalescence at home for another month. Then he'll be eligible for light duty status." 

"Eight weeks, " Skinner mused. "Then a Bureau physical and firearms qualification, and he'll be back out there." He leaned back, looked faintly pleased, which surprised Scully. "How's he taking it, Agent Scully? The man's hyperactive and obsessed with his work. He can't be enjoying this confinement. Is he driving you crazy, yet?" 

She smiled faintly. "The morphine's keeping him down to a dull roar. And despite it, moving carelessly or too much causes him a great deal of pain. He'll start getting stir-crazy after they wean him off the morphine. I don't think pain will slow him down much. Hopefully Percocet will." 

Skinner shook his head, and surprised her by almost smiling. "I'm sure no one's looking forward to that." 

"I am," she said frankly. "I miss my partner, sir. That heavily-medicated patient is a shadow of the man I know." 

Skinner leaned forward, and his voice became brisk and businesslike again. "Well, he'll be back, soon. In the meantime, I have an assignment for you." 

She straightened in the chair, bracing herself. "Sir?" 

He looked up and met her eyes steadily. "I am not sending you back to the Academy, Scully, to mark time until Mulder's back in the basement. I might not get you back, and neither of us wants that. So I'm keeping you within my command, and lending you out to Violent Crimes. You're a good investigator, you've had some excellent field training. You did a good job in North Carolina, even before Mulder's injury forced you to take command. You did a very good job; better than we would have ordinarily expected from an agent with as little field experience as you have had." 

"Thank you, sir." She was frozen, waiting for him to ruin all her plans for the next two months. 

"So, while Mulder's incapacitated, we're going to get you a little more variety of experience. I'm going to assign you as a supernumerary agent to Agent Bart Mitcham's unit. He specializes in kidnappings for ransom, but he does 'em all. He's been in VCS for years; he has a huge cold case file. I want you to go through that cold case file and peer review them. I want summaries of the case with an analysis of what was done correctly, what was wasted effort. I'm not interested in you second-guessing the SAC's decisions. I want to know what they wasted time doing because it was standard procedure and not because they anticipated any real profit from it. I also want an outline of your recommendations of how a current renewal of the investigation should proceed, as well as recommendations for policy and procedural changes. 

"I don't want you in the field unless absolutely necessary, Scully. Mitcham's a good agent, but he's five months from retirement. I'm doing what I can to make sure he gets there. I'm trying to keep him inside, too." 

"Does he currently have a partner, sir?" 

Skinner shook his head. "He's acting ASAC, supervising four pairs of younger agents while they handle the actual caseloads. He hates riding a desk at least as much as you and Mulder do." He paused. "Agent Scully, I feel it necessary to warn you that Agent Mitcham is an old-style gentleman, not a modern one. I suspect you aren't going to like him, much. On the other hand, you can hold your own just fine against Mulder's razorwire brain; an old fogey like Mitcham hasn't got a chance against you. If you want to report him, I will handle him. But I don't expect you'll need my help." 

Scully made a face. "Thank you so much, sir." 

Skinner sighed. "I expect that you will be spending most of your time on the case files, not with Mitcham. He's been informed of your assignment, and told that you don't have to physically report in at VCS. You can bring the files back here, or work on them anywhere you like. You will submit your reports to Mitcham and to me; e-mail is fine. As long as the work gets done." 

Scully blinked, and suppressed a smile. Skinner had just given her the blank check for which she had not dared ask him. 

"Thank you, sir. Thank you very much!" 

It was all she could do to keep from running out of his office. 

* * *

It took willpower to restrain herself from speeding as she headed for Oakwoods. She knew where it was because she had inspected it before she had consented to send Mulder here. She was finding that Medical Power of Attorney document very helpful. 

She parked in the visitors lot and hurried inside. The woman at Reception was one she had met before, and she smiled. 

"Hi, Traci. Where've you got Fox Mulder tucked away in here?" 

But Traci shook her head. "He hasn't arrived, yet. We were expecting him, but he hasn't arrived." 

Scully could only stare at her for a moment. "They started prepping him for transport at one o'clock this afternoon. It's after six... he should be here by now!" 

Traci spread her hands helplessly. "He's not here, and we haven't heard a thing." 

Scully pulled out her cell and hit the speed dial for the nurses station outside Mulder's old room. 

"Nine-west." 

"Vivianne? This is Dana Scully. Did you ship Mulder to Oakwoods like we planned?" 

"Yes, of course." 

"What time did he leave?" 

"Hang on..." 

Scully waited, motionless, internalizing her tension. She could hear Vivianne flipping pages in her log book. 

"He was signed out to Rural-Metro at two o'clock." 

"I'm at Oakwoods, Vivianne. He's not here." 

Scully heard Vivianne gasp. "Something must have happened...!" 

"I'm going to call Rural-Metro, Viv. Thanks." 

"Call me when you find out what happened?" 

"I'll make sure you find out. Thanks, Viv." 

Scully turned to Traci, intending to ask for the number, but Traci was dialing already. 

"Bennie? This is Traci at Oakwoods Admissions. Where's my new patient?" There was a brief pause. "Fox Mulder." There was a longer pause, and she looked up at Scully. "The ambulance was involved in a multi-car DWI wreck after they left the heli-pad." Her attention went back to the phone. 

Scully was frozen with horror. 

"Okay. Thanks, Bennie. Good thoughts for your guys." She hung up the phone and turned to face Scully. "No fatalities." 

Scully let some of the tension out of her spine. 

"All four casualties from the wrecked ambulance were airlifted to Holy Cross Hospital. Bennie says it wasn't because they were hurt that badly; it was because the wreck clogged traffic so badly that there was no other way to get them out at all." 

Scully closed her eyes for a moment, breathing a prayer. "Thanks, Traci. I'm on my way there." 

Traci waited until she was out the doors, and dialed the phone again. "ER, please. Tammy? This is Traci at Oakwood Admissions. Here's a heads-up for you; you got a vic from that DWI with the Rural-Metro ambulance. His name is Fox Mulder; he was the patient being transported; he was supposed to be coming here. Listen to me, Tammy. He's an FBI agent recovering from a gunshot wound. His partner is five-two, a blue-eyed redhead named Dana Scully. She's an FBI agent, and a medical doctor, and she is hell-on-wheels with no brakes, Tam. She's on her way. Do not get between her and that patient. She's got his MPOA; you can't stop her. Don't even try. Just get out of her way." 

* * *

Mulder clawed his way up to consciousness with the total conviction that something was very wrong. He tried to look around but he could not open his eyes. So he concentrated on his other senses. 

Much to his relief, he could hear Scully's voice. He could not quite make out what she was saying, but from her tone, someone had thoroughly pissed her off. If he concentrated, he could hear another voice, a man's, trying to expostulate, trying to interrupt, to explain. Scully obviously had no intention of letting him get a word in edgewise. 

After a while Mulder decided to take pity on the hapless fool. "Scully...?" 

Those two syllables, barely audible, hoarse and ragged even to his own ears, were enough. Her tirade stopped at once, and he heard the distinctive rhythm of her high heels as she came to his bedside. 

"Mulder? Are you awake?" 

"Kinda," he managed. "Wha' hap'n'd? Somethin's wrong..." He could hear the slur in his own voice, and it worried him. 

Cool fingers brushed his forehead; a cool damp cloth wiped across his face very gently. When he tried again his eyes opened. 

The figure bending over him was Scully, but he could not focus on her. Her hair was enough; he relaxed. 

"Mulder? What's the last thing you remember?" 

He had been expecting that question. "I remember a plan for an ambulance ride. What happened?" 

"The ambulance was in a wreck, Mulder." 

His vision was slowly clearing. He concentrated on her, and saw the signs of tears on her face. He tried to lift his hand to touch her cheek, and found that he could not do it. Startled, he fought harder. There seemed to be a heavy weight holding his arm down. 

Scully put her hands down on top of his. "Mulder, stop. You're still recovering from the anesthetic. Don't try to move." 

He obeyed her, but his respiration rate went up. "What happened?" he demanded. 

"You have several broken bones, you're badly battered and bruised. You're wearing a neck brace..." 

He had not realized he was until she said it. 

"...because the ambulance rolled, and the litter broke free when the back of the ambulance was ripped apart. You were under the litter and most of the loose equipment from inside. There's some swelling, here, but it looks like just some sprained muscles. The MRI showed no damage to your spine. For a wonder, your wounded leg is fine." 

That litany had been rattled off quickly, and he really had not grasped most of it. "Am I okay?" he had to ask. 

"Yes, Mulder. You're going to be fine. Just relax. Go back to sleep. We'll talk about it again when you really wake up." 

She was right; he was falling asleep. He wanted to hold her hand, but he could only move the tips of his fingers on his left hand. It was enough; he suspected she put her hand where he needed it to be, but that was all right. "Thanks, Scully..." 

* * *

Mulder woke up again while Scully was eating her dinner at his bedside. The tantalyzing smell of lemon-broiled fish and a ginger-and-hot-sauce vegetable stir fry was the first thing he noticed. 

Scully noticed he was waking up because his head turned toward her. When she realized he was sniffing for her dinner she smiled and waved the carton of vegetables closer to his face. 

Finally he pried his eyes open and managed to focus on her. "Hi." 

"Hi, yourself, sleepyhead." 

He did not like how rusty his voice sounded, but apparently she agreed because she offered him water at once. It helped. He cleared his throat several times before he tried to speak again. He took the time to look around the room. He made a face. "Looks like a hospital to me," he grumbled. 

"Got it in one," she nodded. "Holy Cross in Silver Springs. Do you remember waking up a little while ago?" 

He frowned. "I remember you yelling at someone." 

Much to his surprise, she blushed. "That was me," she confirmed, her voice faint. 

"Who were you flaying?" 

"An idiot in Admissions who didn't think our medical coverage included ambulances for transfers, or for car crashes. Needless to say, I tore him a new one." 

He could not help but smile at her, unaware of how drug-dazed he looked. "Chainsaw!Scully is one of my personal favorites... What did you say to him?" 

"I told him if he didn't get the paperwork done correctly I'd sue the hospital, and when I owned it, I'd fire him." 

He was exhausted, but he couldn't pass that up. "You have the strangest ambitions, Scully..." 

She smiled, and he felt himself sliding back under the influence of the drugs that were no doubt flooding his bloodstream; he was having trouble focusing on her, but he wanted details. "How did I get here?" 

"Helicopter airlift." 

That startled him, but not enough to fight off the weariness. "You're kidding." 

"Nope." 

"And I missed that one, too." 

"You were unconscious," she nodded. 

"So, how long am I stuck here?" 

She grinned at him. "So, now you want to go to Oakwoods?" 

"I hate hospitals." 

She took a deep breath. "All right. You're here for at least another day, maybe two. Then it's on to Oakwoods." 

"At least that's progress," Mulder observed, trying to sound cheerful. 

Scully bit her lip; it was entirely possible that he did not remember the briefing she had given him when he had awakened the first time. "Mulder..." 

His eyes met hers and he stared, as if trying to read her mind. It did not work and he was forced to ask. "What?" 

"This crash has set your timetable back a bit." 

He swallowed hard. "Tell me." 

"Your left radius and ulna are broken and so is your right radius. There are broken carpals and metacarpals in your right hand. Your left clavicle is broken. You can't really work on walking when you can't use your hands and arms to balance and support yourself. Both your forearms are heavily casted, Mulder. You can't do anything but lie there and complain." 

He sagged back into the pillow. 

She waited for him to say something, but he did not. "Mulder...?" 

He blinked back tears. "What else could go wrong, Scully? The Bureau's always watching for an excuse to shut us down. It's going to be months before I'm fit for duty again...! They're going to re-assign you and close the X Files down... what's the point of working to get out of here when there's nothing to get back to?" 

She moved decisively: she sat down on the mattress beside him so she could put her hands on either side of his body and lean down to look him squarely in the eye. 

"That's not true," she said distinctly. "Skinner specifically stated that he was keeping me in his command while you're out because he doesn't want to lose me or our department. I'm on temporary assignment to Violent Crimes, doing case reviews of cold cases to see if we can kickstart some of them. The X Files are in abeyance, waiting for you." 

She watched him fight to process what she had said; it took more time than usual; the painkillers were seriously impairing his functioning. Finally he found words. 

"You're sure?" 

"I'm sure. There's an old agent in VCS a guy named Bart Mitcham who's got a huge cold case file. I'm assigned as a supernumerary to his unit. He's supervising four pairs of agents and hating every minute of it, but Skinner wants to keep him inside and off the streets; he's less than five months from retirement and Skinner wants to make sure he makes it." 

Mulder resisted for a few moments and then let himself relax. "You're sure...?" 

"I'm sure, Mulder. You just work on getting better. We'll be back in the basement as soon as you're fit for duty." 

He fell asleep smiling. 

End part 1 of 4 ____*

Mulder was held overnight at Holy Cross for observation, then shipped, as before, to Oakwoods. This time Scully rode with him, and he asked for lighter meds; he did not want to sleep through it this time. 

Scully did not argue. She preferred it when he was conscious, too. This time there were no complications or accidents. Scully monitored his admission and did all the paperwork without letting him out of her sight. 

He was in a semi-private room, but currently had no roommate. Scully was cautiously pleased with that. She had dinner with him, then, when he could not stay awake, took her leave of him, promising to be back in the morning. 

He frowned. "Don't you have to be at work?" 

Scully chuckled. "Tomorrow's Saturday. Skinner's a martinet, not a slave driver." 

He looked interested. "What's he got you doing?" he asked. "You're not at Quantico?" 

"No." She shook her head. "I'm supposed to peer review a bunch of cold cases, write up recommendations for how to resume investigations, and suggestions for policy and procedure changes." 

"Wow. How you rate." 

"It's busy work, Mulder. Skinner all but told me to bring the cases here and spend my days with you." 

Mulder smiled. "We'll have to go something nice for him." 

"What would you suggest?" 

Mulder hid a yawn, and blinked at her tiredly. "Maybe we can solve a couple of those cases." 

"I'm not allowed in the field without an able-bodied partner," she reminded him. 

"My body's able; it's my arms and leg that're messed up, "he grinned at her slyly. 

She blushed and stood up hurriedly. "Go to sleep, Mulder." 

"I'll call you later." 

From the doorway, she threw him a smile. Then she was gone. 

It took him a while to fall asleep, but when he did, he slept through the night and never tried to call her. 

Saturday morning brought with it a rude awakening. He had accepted Scully's cosseting the evening before, including letting her feed him his dinner, because he was feeling rather fragile and because she made him feel as if there might be someone on the planet who genuinely cared about him without being paid to do so. 

Morning started early here; orderlies and LPNs were bustling down the halls with sponge baths and clean gowns and linen for everyone, like it or not. He tolerated it because the nurse was male and reminded him of Jerry back at the hospital. The orderly was not as big as Jerry or Paul, but they managed. 

Once the floor had settled down from that serial disturbance, the breakfast carts arrived. While the laundry detail had started at Mulder's end of the corridor, the breakfast carts started at the other. He listened to them for a long time before the cart stopped at his door. 

A young woman brought in his tray, set it up on the tray table, maneuvered it over his bed and opened the tray, all without a word. It was as if she could not --or would not-- see him. He turned his attention to the food and she vanished out the door. 

That was when Mulder came to a shocking realization. His hands were both in casts, and he was totally helpless. He had no use of his hands at all. He could not feed himself. He could not do anything for himself. He looked around for a call button and found it lying on the bed by his left leg. 

He reached for it with his left hand but misjudged the movement, overcompensating for the weight of the cast. The edge of the plaster hit the control box, and before his fingers could close on it, it had slid off the bed. 

He heard the clatter of plastic hitting the floor and cursed under his breath. The box also had the bed controls on it; now he could not elevate the bed, either. He relaxed back against the pillow for a moment, thinking about his choices, trying to stay calm. 

Alone, isolated, immobilized and helpless was a terrifying combination. For a moment he was swept up in memories of his capture in Idaho, not all that long ago: he had surrendered to overwhelming odds, been cuffed and disarmed, taken into custody and driven into the very hanger he had wanted to infiltrate. Then someone had walked up to him and sprayed him in the face with something from a small aerosol can. 

Whatever drug had been in the spray had cut his legs out from under him at once. Cuffed, he had been unable to protect himself when he fell, and his skull had thumped on the concrete floor rather hard, adding a massive headache to his discomfort. He had been aware but unable to move or clearly see when the soldiers had lifted him and laid him on a gurney. He had begun to gasp for air by then: the paralysis was spreading. He had been desperately relieved when they fitted an oxygen mask over his face. The air had tasted odd and he had thought even then that it contained an antidote for the sprayed drug. 

He had struggled, trying to fight his way free, but he could not move. He could barely breathe or see. He was strapped down and helpless, being taken to men that he knew would have no compunctions against killing him. 

Mulder shuddered and forced his mind back to the present. Idaho had been bad; he still did not remember it all. He strongly suspected that a part of him really did not want to remember. He had been sick for two days afterward and had had claustrophobic dreams of torture and interrogation for weeks afterward. 

At least now he could move a little, he tried to console himself. He could talk. He swallowed a couple of times, hoped he had regained enough control to trust his voice. 

"Hey!" he called experimentally. That did not sound too bad, and his voice was not trembling. He tried for a little more volume. "Hello! Anybody there? Hellooo...?" He fell silent, straining to hear what was happening in the hallway. His door was ajar, but only a few inches. The door moved. 

"Hello?" 

An older woman in a nurse's uniform stepped inside. "What's all the shouting about?" 

Mulder relaxed. "I lost the call button." 

She sighed and shook her head. It took her only a moment to locate it and use the velcro strap to fasten it to the bedrail so he would not lose it again. "You have to be more careful of your toys." 

He grinned wryly. "Yes, Mom." 

"Muriel, actually." 

"Nice to meet you, Muriel." 

"I really prefer Ellie." 

"I totally understand," he nodded. "I don't use my first name at all. Just call me Mulder." 

She glanced at the chart in the pocket on the inside of his door, and grinned. "I totally understand." 

"I thought you might. Can you help me with breakfast?" He lifted his casted hands a bit to demonstrate his need. 

Ellie nodded. "I can do that." Then a tone sounded from her pocket. "But not right this minute," she sighed. She pulled her pager out and glanced at it. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Mr Mulder. We're running a little understaffed this morning." 

"I understand that. Not a problem." 

Before he could finish the thought she was gone. 

He was both relieved and apprehensive; he had developed another problem. He needed to get to the washroom. He had hesitated, feeling a bit embarrassed about asking a woman he didn't know, who was old enough to be his mother, to help him with that. Unfortunately, the matter was going to become urgent rather soon. 

He could see the toilet. The problem was that it was at least fifteen feet away: he had been installed, at his own request, in the bed by the window, and the washroom was by the door. Even if he had had his crutches, he doubted he could make it that far. 

He knew that if he tried and failed and re-injured himself, Scully would harangue him without mercy, and she might, as she had on occasion threatened in the past, recommend a psychological evaluation based on his demonstrated self-destructive behaviors. 

He was busy resigning himself to wetting the bed for lack of other choices when he heard familiar footsteps approaching. In a moment, his partner was coming into his room. 

"Good morning, Mulder!" She seemed cheerful, despite the heavy briefcase she was carrying. 

"Scully, get me a couple of orderlies, will you? I need to get up and I can't do it alone!" 

She understood at once. "You aren't getting up, Mulder." 

He was gritting his teeth, now. "Whatever! I still need help, Scully; I can't use my hands!" 

She went to the doorway and gestured imperatively to someone he could not see. "Did you ask anyone for help before I got here?" 

"I didn't have a chance," he answered her. "Ellie got paged and had to leave. She promised to come back, but couldn't say when." 

"Y'all need some he'p in heah?" 

A soft Southern drawl from the doorway distracted them both. Scully stepped out of the room to give Mulder some privacy. She waited there patiently until the young orderly stepped out again. 

"All clear, ma'am," he grinned at her. 

Scully smiled. "Thank you." She went back inside. 

Mulder had elevated the head of the bed a little, so he could see her more easily. When she came into sight, he grinned at her lazily. "Good morning." 

"Good morning? Harried morning, it sounds like." She pulled up a chair so she could sit beside him, checking the PCA pump as she fussed for a moment. She noted that the infusion rate was lower than yesterday, but did not see a need to mention that to Mulder. She checked out his breakfast tray. "You can eat this, or special order another and have it delivered about lunch time..." 

He sighed and decided to let her change the subject. "I'll try. It's not like I have a choice. I'm hungry!" 

Scully smiled and checked his hands and the bandages there. "Your right hand was pretty badly damaged," she said calmly as she fussed. "You won't be using it any time soon. But the left has potential. We'll discuss it with your doctor. He'll be here soon to discuss your recovery plan." 

Mulder relaxed and let his partner feed him. 

They were just finishing when there was a knock on the door and a man who looked like Mulder might have if he had been blond and twenty pounds heavier stuck his head into the room. 

"Mr Mulder?" 

"Yeah?" 

The man came the rest of the way in, and approached the bed. He took in the details of bandaging and refrained from offering to shake hands. "Hi. I'm Victor Donnainess, your primary physician. This," he gestured behind him as another man followed him into the room, "is your physical therapist, Drew Bellinger." 

Bellinger grinned easily. "Hi. You're going to hate me." 

Mulder relaxed back against the pillows. "I already hate you," he assured the man. 

Bellinger laughed, shoved his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans, and leaned against the wall. It was Scully who noted the long lean lines of his legs, and the worn but nicely polished cowboy boots he was wearing. 

"Now that the niceties are done..." Dr Donnainess took over the conversation again. Within three sentences, his words were just meaningless sounds to Mulder, so he just relaxed and watched his partner as she fielded it all effortlessly. 

Neither of them was pleased with the doctor's decision and orders. 

"You're not getting any PT this week, Mr Mulder. You've been through quite enough, I think, and you're still running a low-grade fever, which means that the infection is still fighting back. I want you to rest as much as you can. The exercise you get getting up to go to the bathroom will be enough. If you like, for an hour in the morning and another in the afternoon, you can get up, and either sit in a chair here in the room, or use a wheelchair and get someone," he paused to grin at Scully, who smiled faintly back, "to take you out into the halls. If the weather is nice, you can go outside. But I don't want you out of bed for more than an hour at a time." 

Mulder swallowed hard, realizing that he really could not rationally argue about this. So he found something else. "Can Scully bring me food? As hospital food goes, this place's is... hospital food." 

Dr Donnainess chuckled. "You are free to negotiate. I'll ask that she not bring you anything too extravagantly unhealthy..." 

Mulder grinned at his partner. "So I'll be living on Subway?" 

"Good choice, for fast food." 

"Thanks, doc." 

"You're welcome. We're going to wean you off the IV painkillers and switch you to tablets, preferably a non-opiate." 

"That scares me," Mulder admitted frankly. "Anyone who thinks you can't remember pain has never been shot like this. I remember the ambulance ride from the scene; I don't ever want to experience anything like that ever again!" 

Scully's hand, in his, tightened convulsively. "You remember that?! I never suspected you were really conscious...!" 

He looked over at her. "I remember the pain, strange voices muttering to one another, and you, talking to me, making me stay focused. It hurt more if I obeyed, but considering how dark it got when I didn't concentrate on you, I think I would have died if you hadn't been so determined." 

Scully ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. All three men could see her blushing. 

Dr Donnainess stood up. "I'll be checking on you a couple of times a day, Mr Mulder. If you need to speak to me, have me paged. I won't be far away. Dr Scully, if I could speak to you for a moment?" 

Mulder did not demur when his partner silently followed the doctor out into the hall. The physical therapist, who had said little, followed the doctor, with just a jaunty wave for his patient. Mulder settled back for a nap. 

Out in the hall, Dr Donnainess paused for a moment. "You've been following his progress from the beginning. Do you think he can be weaned off the IV in a week?" 

Scully bit her lip. "I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe we could step him down from IV opiates to tabs and then to non-opiate tabs? I know the IV will make his PT difficult..." 

Donnainess nodded, glancing at Bellinger, who was standing a few feet away. "I really don't like sending patients still on high dose opiates for PT, but PT is better than supine range-of-motion exercises." 

Scully could not argue with that. "And with Mulder's collection of injuries, ROM would be of limited use," she pointed out. "His thigh is an obscene mess... or it was, until Hirschfelder and Stock in Raleigh put him back together." 

"That ambulance ride was a bad one, huh?" 

She shuddered. "I don't recall ever being so scared," she admitted. "He was only barely conscious, if at all. He was unresponsive to verbal stimuli, but the tiniest movement obviously caused him pain. Plus, he was bleeding out and there was nothing we could do about it. It took thirteen units to stabilize him." 

"Damn..." 

"Yeah." 

"And that was eight days ago?" 

"Yes." 

"So the femoral artery bundle was not compromised?" 

"No, but it was close." She took a deep breath. "Once he starts really recovering, he's going to drive us crazy, you know. He's not ADD, but he is hyperactive. He has a genius-level IQ and very little respect for authority. He also has very little sense of self preservation: he will gaily dive in and risk himself if he thinks the prize might be worth it." 

"Swell..." Donnainess glanced at his watch. "Oh, jeez. Now I'm behind schedule. I'll see you later, Doctor Scully." 

"All right." 

* * *

For that week, Mulder slept a lot. Scully worked, reading through the first case in her briefcase and making notes on a yellow legal pad. When he was awake they talked about the cases she had brought along. Mulder tended to sleep on the questions, and give her the answers when he woke up, which she found slightly unnerving. 

He insisted on his twice-a-day excursions, if not outside, at least to the front lobby, where there were large windows and he could at least see outside. The staff had planted bird feeders near most of the ground floor windows, and on his second day, Scully brought him a field guide to North American birds so they could try to identify the ones they were seeing. 

Mulder had a voracious mind, even under the cloud of opiates, and he read the field guide over the next few days, and soon was slapping names on birds that Scully could only identify as birds because they flew. 

"That was a Tufted Titmouse, Scully." 

"You're making that up; there's no such bird." 

"Sure there is; look on page 324." 

She looked, and found that he was right. Even drugged, his eidetic memory was working, even if he sounded as if he was talking in slow motion. 

The excursions always exhausted him and she could count on him being solidly asleep for several hours right after they got him back into bed. She took advantage of those times to make phone calls and, sometimes, to take a nap, herself. 

* * *

It was the fourth day at Oakwoods when Mulder realized that he had not heard from Frohike, nor had his mail arrived. He still could not use his hands, so he bided his time. When Scully took her leave of him to go offsite for lunch, he hit his call button. 

It was Paul Knolland, his favorite nurse, who answered. "Mr Mulder? What can I do for you?" 

"Hi, Paul. I need to make a phone call. Can you give me a hand with the details like dialing and such?" 

Paul grinned. "Sure can." It only took him a moment to fix the receiver to a foam neck roll with a short length of bandage wrap and brace it for Mulder against his pillow. Then Mulder told him the number and he dialed it. Paul waited until he heard the connection and then left Mulder to conduct his business in private. 

"Hi. It's me. Turn off the tape." 

"Mulder!" Langly yelped. "Where th' hell are you, man?! We've been worried about you!" 

"I got transferred out of the hospital to rehab." Mulder spoke slowly, trying to enunciate clearly: he knew the drugs were affecting his speech clarity. 

"So where are you, man?" 

"It's called Oakwoods; it's halfway between Scully's place and her parents' house." He could hear Langly typing quickly. 

"Got it," Langly announced. "We brought that package to the hospital in Raleigh, but we couldn't get in, all they'd tell us was that you were no longer a patient there. It scared the hell out of us, man. We thought you'd been disappeared!" 

"Nothing more nefarious than managed care, Lang," Mulder sighed. "The doctor's decided that I didn't need to be in a hospital and they shipped me here." 

"You sound funny, Mulder." 

"Drugs, Langly. Serious painkillers and an assortment of other things. I wouldn't be surprised if there's an anti-depressant in there, too." 

"Why?" Langly sounded utterly confused. 

"'Cause I can't do anything except lie here in bed!" 

"Want us to bring you a laptop? You can mess around..." 

"No, thanks," Mulder sighed. "I can't use my hands, Langly. The ambulance bringing me here was in a wreck and I've got two broken arms, a broken right hand and a wrenched back on top of the fist-sized hole in my leg." 

"Oh, my God..." 

Mulder sighed again. "Don't freak on me, Lang. I'm okay. I'm just really really bored." 

"Frohike said your partner was with you in Raleigh. I guess she had to go back to work?" 

"No, she's here. But I can't monopolize her attention 24/7. She's got work to do... she's got a life." 

"Where is she?" 

"She went out for food. She doesn't like hospital food anymore than I do, and my doctor said I can eat off the reservation even if I can't walk." 

"So, you get to lie in bed and be waited on by the stunning and babe-o-licious Doctor Dana Scully and you're complaining?! Those drugs are addling your brains, Mulder." 

"That's not all they're addling," Mulder observed darkly. "I sleep all the time! It's unnatural!" 

Langly laughed softly. "You take it easy, Mulder. We'll bring your mail out tomorrow." 

"Thanks, Langly. Tell Frohike and Byers I said hi." 

"Okay. See ya tomorrow." 

When they disconnected, Mulder buzzed Paul back in. By the time Scully got back with lunch from Taco Bell, he was asleep. 

TITLE: Friends (2 of 2) AUTHOR: Wylfcynne 

* * *

Scully was living there at Oakwoods. She had been showering at the nurses' locker room and she was wearing borrowed scrubs. Mulder did not comment on it; he just luxuriated in her constant presence. Since she was sleeping when he did and eating with him, she was awake when he was. It was wonderful. 

After they had finished the three cases she had brought with her, Scully had called SAC Mitcham's administrative assistant and asked her to package up a dozen more of the cases Skinner wanted reviewed and to messenger them to her at Oakwoods. Antoinette Vacanti was efficient and the package arrived the next day. 

Mulder saw her bringing in two packages he knew at once what they were. He used the bed control to sit up. 

"Two packages'- worth of case files?" he asked. 

"No..." Scully was clearly puzzled. "The big one's the case files from Antoinette. This one has one of your return address labels on it." 

He grinned. "It's my mail, Scully. I had friends picking it up while we were gone. Can I impose on you a little more?" 

She grinned at him. "You aren't imposing, Mulder. What do you need?" 

"Open that up and write the checks to pay my bills? They said they'd tuck my checkbook in there." 

She nodded. "I can do that, Mulder. But what about signing the checks?" 

"Just sign my name and initial it. If they have a problem, let 'em call." 

"I'll send a note explaining your temporary disability," she grinned. "If I sign it with my MD and not my FBI credentials, no one will be suspicious." 

"Works for me," he grinned. "Thanks, Scully." 

"Who sent this package?" she asked as she opened it carefully. "It's a bit overwrapped." 

"Some friends of mine. They pick up my mail and feed my fish when I'm out of town. I'm not usually gone this long." 

The package proved to contain a large stack of unopened mail and a smaller manila envelope containing his checkbook, two books of stamps, a stack of check-mailer security envelopes, a sheet of return address labels with one missing, and a pen. 

"Your friends are very accommodating," she observed. 

"They're good. We've been hanging out since they accidentally got involved in a manhunt up in Baltimore in '89." 

She nodded thoughtfully. "Friends are good. How did you meet them?" 

"A fugitive led me to an electronics trade show where they were all exhibitors. Turned out she had been framed. One of the guys fell for her and I ended up in the hospital, exposed to the toxic gas she'd designed for the government. She'd been trying to play whistle-blower since she'd discovered that her supervisors were planning on testing the gas on a random cross section of the population of Baltimore." 

"That's outrageous!" 

He nodded. "She thought so. But I never did find out what happened to her. The guys think she got picked up again, but I was in the hospital and I can't be sure that they weren't hoodwinked. It was fairly traumatic for all concerned; the guys and I are all a lot more cynical, now." 

Scully cocked her head at him. "Traumatic bonding?" 

He grinned at her, amused at her use of the psychiatric term. "You've been boning up," he accused her happily. 

"Since this assignment I've been doing a refresher, just so I can keep up with you." 

He relaxed back into his pillow. "You're good, Scully. Too good for me." 

She smacked him lightly on his casted wrist. "Stop that. Your self-deprecation is not amusing." 

He blinked at her, startled. 

Her expression calmed. "Don't slam yourself like that, Mulder. You don't deserve it." 

He had no ready reply, but she did not seem to expect one. She was sorting through his mail. "Do you want me to read this all to you?" 

He shook his head. "No. Just pay 'em. I don't care." 

"After lunch." 

He grinned. "Yeah. After lunch." 

* * *

After lunch she paid his bills, trying to avoid looking at the itemized list of charges on his credit card bill; it was none of her business what he bought or from whom... but she could not help but notice several charges from area code 900 telephone companies. She knew what that meant and carefully did not comment. 

Once the bills were all done and set aside to mail, she opened the other package. Mulder happily pushed the button to elevate the head of his bed. 

"Finally, something interesting to do," he sighed. "I hate paying bills, even when you do it." 

She grinned at him as she handed him the crime scene photos. "So hire an accountant to handle that for you." 

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked rhetorically. "Besides, I'd still have to verify all my charges. I am not doing that with my accountant." 

"Why not?" 

"Because she'd ask me what they all were and I am not explaining that to an earnest young girl named Angelina who was raised in convent schools and graduated from a private girls' college in Switzerland." 

"What good's an accountant you can't talk to?" 

"I didn't say I couldn't talk to her; I can. About money and numbers. Nothing else. She's a savant, too; she's a math savant. She can't make a mistake if it involves numbers. They sing for her." 

"Savant, too?" Scully prompted him. 

He looked a little embarrassed. "I'm a visual eidetic. You knew that." 

She nodded. "Yes. So there's a society of sorts for people with those unusual abilities?" 

"Yes. Of sorts. Mostly it's a mutual support group to help professionals who have one of us for a patient. Angelina's reported that many people with whom she's had ordinary contact have assumed that she's damaged or incompetent in other areas once they learn of her talent." 

"I'll bet she doesn't look like Dustin Hoffman, either." 

"No, she doesn't." 

That conversation lapsed as she opened the case notes and started reading them aloud for him. Clumsy and slow with both his hands still encasted, he listened intently as he studied the photos. Inevitably their normal work habits surfaced, and he started bouncing theories off her. She rebutted them with facts from the file and the process went on. 

Scully took thorough notes, and reserved the time after dinner for reviewing the day's efforts as she reduced their day's-worth of brainstorming and studying into a summary. She did not hesitate to append both their names to it before e-mailing it back to the Hoover building. 

Skinner had been right. Mulder's years of experience in VCS were showing, and Scully was learning a lot about how VCS worked and how it could do better. The fifth case they reviewed was a serial killer: four high school cheerleaders had been found, over the course of six months, on the banks of Seven Sisters Creek in rural central NYS. The profile described an unpopular young man from their high schools who had tried and failed to be a jock so he could win himself a cheerleader. 

The profile made sense, but it did not help narrow the field of candidates down enough. No one who fit the profile knew all the girls, nor attended all the schools. No arrests were ever made and the file had been sitting here for thirteen years. 

Mulder looked thoughtful as he propped the dump site photos on his good knee. 

Scully knew that look. "Spit it out, Mulder." 

He flashed her a quick grin. "If you were one of The Popular Girls in high school, what are the criteria for suitable relationships?" 

Scully shrugged. "From what I observed, good looking, well-built, smart enough but not too smart, parents with money and prospects toward a good business or law school. Had to be a guy who had potential for being half a lovely couple and enough money to live in the right neighborhoods and belong to the right clubs... You know the deal." 

Mulder grinned. "So... pre-med is good but a pure mathematician need not apply?" 

Scully grinned back. "Pretty much. Why?" 

"I disagree with this profile," he said quietly. "If the nerds aren't viable candidates how about an ex-candidate? A smart and athletic jock who makes himself ineligible _after_ he's been part of the group and enjoyed all the perks." 

Scully looked thoughtful. "Substance abuse. Accidental injury resulting in visible disfigurement or disability, especially if the injury was incurred doing something stupid." 

"Like standing out in plain sight and yelling, 'Hey, shoot me!'?" he commented. 

"Mulder, don't. You didn't do anything wrong, or stupid, or permanently disabling. You're still in the running." 

"Oh, goody. I always wanted to date a cheerleader." 

She shook her head. "I never even wanted to be one. They annoyed me." 

"So, if our guy did something inexcusable..." he mused, refocusing on the case. "Would a felony conviction and prison time DQ someone?" 

"Absolutely," Scully was sure. "You can't take an ex-con into Polite Society." 

"So... a downcheck could be... a DWI wreck in which someone else died? He'd get... let's see. In New York State I think he'd be eligible for anything from vehicular manslaughter or criminally negligent homicide, to a maximum, I would think, of Murder 2 or manslaughter. He could get anything up to life." 

"If he's in the slam, he's not out committing these murders," Scully pointed out. "What if he was charged with Murder 2 but managed to plea it down to criminally negligent homicide? If I recall correctly, in New York State that's an E Felony, with a maximum sentence of four years. He could serve part of it, be out on parole for the rest... and be living in the community." 

"If he moved back home when he was released, everyone knows what he did," Mulder pointed out. "He can't hide from it. His nose gets rubbed in it a lot. But conditions of parole may be keeping him there." 

"I'm going to call the Pomona County Sheriff's Department and ask a few pertinent questions. Maybe we can get this one re-opened for a little fact checking," Scully mused. 

Mulder grinned. "Sic 'em." Then he yawned massively. "I need a nap." 

Scully grinned back at him. "Sleep fast. Dinner's in an hour." 

Mulder made a face. "Can I bribe you to go out and get something better than hospital food?" 

"I'm getting really tired of Subway." 

He made a face. "Me, too... but even that's better than the ersatz stuff they serve here. Anything, Scully. Please." 

"All right," she nodded. She put the file away and reached for his jacket, pocketing a page of notes with the Sheriff's investigator's phone number on it. 

Mulder was asleep before she was out the door. 

* * *

Scully called Pomona County while she waited for her order to be filled. The deputy who had been the original lead investigator had long since retired, but they had formed a Cold Case Task Force the year before with the State Police, involving the sheriff's departments from the contiguous counties and the state's Department of Centralized Police Support Services. Her call was transferred several times but it was eventually picked up by an officer who introduced himself as State Police Investigator Tom Zajas. 

Scully introduced herself and explained Mulder's theory of the ex-jock as opposed to the jock wannabe as a suspect. 

Zajas listened intently. "I'll be honest, Agent Scully," he said finally, "I'm going to have to pull the file and go through it a bit before I'll be able to evaluate this. Can I call you back in a day or two?" 

"Certainly," she smiled. "I'll give you my cell. My partner's on medical leave and I'm on a desk till he's back on duty. That's how I ended up doing these cold case reviews." 

"Are you a profiler?" he asked. "I thought they worked alone." 

"I'm not; I'm a forensic pathologist. My partner's a retired profiler. I'm finding it fascinating to analyze how much the opiate IV doesn't impair his profiling abilities; it just slows him down." 

"Who's your partner?" 

"Fox Mulder." 

"Damn!" 

"His reputation precedes him, I see," she smiled. 

"Well, yeah," Zajas actually sounded a little shaken. "I don't think there's anyone in major crimes anywhere in the US who hasn't heard of Fox Mulder. What happened to him?" 

"Shot by a suspect during a raid," she replied, proud of her professionally laconic tone. "Broken femur, lots of blood loss. He's going to be okay but it'll take a while." 

"Well, damn. I worked with him on the Kotola murders up in Watertown in '87. Tell him I said hello." 

"I will." 

"Tell him that George Matson was murdered in the yard at Attica last year." 

Scully took a deep breath. "I'll pass it on, Investigator Zajas. Call me back when you decide if we've been of any help on the Seven Sisters Murders, all right? 888-555-8367." 

"All right, Agent Scully. Thanks." 

"Thank you, Investigator Zajas." 

Feeling rather subdued by the deputy's glee that the convicted murderer had himself been murdered, she collected her food and drove back to Oakwoods. 

Mulder was still asleep. She stashed the food in the nurses' refrigerator and began to write up her notes. Halfway through she relaxed back in her chair and fell asleep. 

* * *

They spent that first week at Oakwoods doing reviews and eating together, sometimes napping together. Scully only went home three times, and Mulder had to be insistent to get her to go. She made sure that the nurses' station knew how to reach her and when she was leaving so they could be expecting Mulder to buzz for help if he needed anything. 

He was still on IV painkillers at the end of the week. The first attempt to wean him off had not worked: he had been in too much pain to eat or sleep. Dr Donnainess had done a complete re-evaluation of his patient and announced that the infection was not yielding to the antibiotic as well as he had expected. He put Mulder back on IV antibiotics, choosing one from a different family to see if it would reduce the infection more effectively. 

Mulder was unhappy; the new antibiotic cocktail made him nauseous, and it took hours for the Compazine to take effect. Dr Donnainess tacked two more days onto his convalescence before he would authorize any PT, and Mulder threw a tantrum. 

"Dammit, I'm never going to get out of here if we don't start working on it! Scully, get me the paperwork; I'm signing myself out of here!" 

Scully calmly shook her head. "No." 

Frustrated, he threw an empty plastic coffee mug at the wall. It broke. 

Scully grinned. "Nice arm. Too bad the hand is still in pieces." 

Exhausted, he wilted. "It's not fair, Scully. I just want to go home!" 

"I know you do, Mulder. But you can only push things so much. No way you can leave if you can't even go get the papers, and you can't hold a pen with that cast on your hand." 

"You could witness my X," he suggested. 

"But I won't," she pointed out. "You need to be here, Mulder. You're a mess. A couple of days now won't matter in the long run; we both know that once you start the PT you'll be at the head of the class." 

* * *

It was two days later and Scully was beginning to worry. After that one flare of anger Mulder had been very quiet. He had listened to her talk about the case she was reviewing, but he had not commented on it nor made any suggestions. She sat back to review the past two days and realized that he had hardly said a thing since she had refused to help him escape the center. 

"Mulder, how do you feel? Are you in pain? What?" 

He considered, seeking within himself, and sighed wearily. "I'm tired, Scully. I'm sticky and uncomfortable; I want a shower. My leg aches, my arms ache, my back and neck are always aching... but there's no way to really get comfortable in this bed." 

She was evaluating his tone as much as his words. "And?" she prompted when he paused. 

"I feel..." he let his voice trail off while he sought the right words. "I feel trapped. As if these casts were leg-hold traps and I'm just lying here helpless, waiting for the trapper to come along, club me to death and skin me." 

Scully was horrified. "Mulder!" 

He shrugged. "You asked." 

She stopped herself from simply reacting. "So, what can we do about it?" 

He blinked, surprised. "I don't know." 

"Should I find a staff psychiatrist? We could add some Elevil or something like it to your IV without much trouble..." 

He shook his head. "No, thanks, Scully. Been there, done that, flunked the course. I'm not letting any headshrinkers at me. That's the last thing Skinner needs from me now: a psych downcheck." 

"Mulder, it's perfectly normal to be depressed when facing a long convalescence. No one can hold that against you." 

"You're such an innocent, Scully." 

Before she could come up with an appropriate response to that, the phone on Mulder's bedside table rang. Scully got up and walked around the bed to answer it. "I had my cell calls forwarded here," she explained. Then she picked the receiver up and spoke. "Scully." 

"Agent Scully? Investigator Zajas, New York State Police." 

"Hello, Investigator Zajas. How can I help you?" 

Mulder pantomimed waving hello. Scully grinned. "Mulder says hi." 

Zajas chuckled. "You gave me the can opener, Agent Scully, and I opened up a can of ugly worms." 

Scully sat down and grabbed a pen and a tablet of paper from the far end of the table. "Do tell." 

"Turned out that the original chief investigator, an old guy named Stock, didn't like new technology, especially computers. So he lied to his CO; this case was never entered on VICAP." 

Scully raised an eyebrow. "What happened when you submitted it?" 

"I got 48 hits in 27 states and 3 Canadian provinces," he replied, unable to completely disguise his enthusiasm. "The UNSUB only started here in Pomona County. No one's ever caught him and his last known victim died six months ago. Her body was recovered five weeks ago and identified by jewelry and dental records." 

"Hang on." She put her hand over the receiver and told Mulder the news. Mulder stared at her unblinkingly for a moment, then inhaled sharply. 

"Omigod. The Sibley County Killer?!" 

Scully repeated the statement to Zajas. 

"Yes!" Zajas was excited. "And a bunch of individual kills that had been tentatively linked. But when I added the Seven Sisters Creek murders to the mix, the computer started spitting things out faster than I could read it. 

"Basically, since so many of the vics were skeletonized by the time they were found, the only clear dates were the dates they went missing. The Seven Sisters Creek killings linked to Sibley County gave a timeline and the evolution of a pattern. He moved from picking actual cheerleaders to picking hookers and call girls who dressed like cheerleaders. 

"That didn't satisfy him long. There were eleven vics in Sibley County, Illinois, spread out over most of a year. There's some speculation that they must have come close enough to frighten the UNSUB because he reverted to his original pattern and started targeting real cheerleaders again. He was older and cannier; he didn't stick around to watch the cops anymore. One, sometimes two kills per locality and he hits the road. 

"The data from Seven Sisters Creek puts the starting line down. The progression, in developing his MO and refining his ritual, the improved hunting skills, plus dates and times of the girls' disappearances as well as the approximate date of death." 

Scully relayed it all to Mulder, who was nodding, getting as excited as Zajas. She could not help but grin as she relayed Mulder's question. 

"So, where is he now, Tom?" 

"There was a cheerleader abducted from her home in Baltimore three days ago," was the answer. "I hate to think of her still in his hands... but the alternative is that she's dead." 

"Baltimore?" Scully repeated. 

Mulder lit up. "That close?! We can catch him, Scully!" 

She forestalled him with a gesture; Zajas was talking. After a minute she said goodbye and hung up. 

"Well?" Mulder was impatient to hear the rest. 

"Tom Zajas and a couple of officers from their Cold Case Task Force are on the way up here; they'll be here tomorrow. He asked me to get all the principals together for a meeting." 

"Hot damn!" 

She frowned. "Mulder, you're convalescing..." 

"I can do this, Scully. If you're scheduling this meeting, schedule it for here. Please, Scully." 

She hesitated for a moment, and then relented. "All right, Mulder. I can bring them here. I have to call the Baltimore office and get someone from VCU..." 

"Call Skinner; he'll get the personnel lined up. Scully, I want to be off the painkillers for the meeting." 

She frowned worriedly. "You couldn't function on the oral painkillers, Mulder. That's not going to work." 

"I can do it if I have to." 

"You don't have to." 

He was exasperated. "Scully, there's a teenage girl out there in the hands of a monster! Of course I have to. So do you: you can't fool me. This is what we joined law enforcement to do." 

She shook her head. "I'm not willing to go along with no painkillers. We can turn off the steady drip and you can go on voluntary only in the morning." 

"Tonight. Now." 

"No. You need a good night's sleep. The morning will be soon enough." 

"I wish I could go to Baltimore with the team..." 

"Mulder !" 

He lifted his heavily casted right hand to forestall her. "Relax, Scully. I know I can't do that. I just _wish_ I could." 

She found the strength to smile hesitantly. "So when you start PT next week you're going to be a good and faithful student?" 

"I'm going to work my ass off," he promised, grinning. 

* * *

Scully made arrangements with the staff to use a conference room for the day; Mulder had been in meetings like this one before, and he warned her that it would be long and probably antagonistic. The locals resented the FBI, the FBI presented as arrogant know-it-alls to the locals, and the line officers resented all of the command level personnel telling them how to do their jobs. 

She kept Mulder in bed as long as she could and did not allow him into the wheelchair for the trip down the hall until one of the staff aides came to tell her that the meeting had convened. 

A tall man with red hair greying at the temples stood up as Scully pushed Mulder's wheelchair into the meeting room. He approached briskly, holding out his hand in greeting. 

"Agent Scully. Tom Zajas." 

Scully shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Investigator Zajas." 

"Tom." 

"Dana." 

Mulder growled wordlessly under his breath, and Zajas turned to smile down at him. 

"Hi, Mulder. You look like hell." 

Mulder leaned back a little so he would not have to crane his neck to see the taller man's face. "Ya shoulda seen the other guy." 

Anger flashed in Zajas's eyes as he took in Mulder's injuries: his left leg in a rigid brace held straight out resting on the wheelchair's leg rest, both forearms in rigid fiberglass casts, and the IV in his throat where the casts wouldn't interfere, the button taped to the cast under his left thumb. 

"I'd like to." 

Mulder shook his head. "He's dead. Fell through a rotten floor trying to escape from Scully." 

Zajas smiled a grim smile. "All's well that ends well..." 

Mulder grimaced. "This isn't 'well' and it's certainly not ended." 

"Let's cut the amenities short, gentlemen," Skinner's cool tones cut through. "Mulder's only allowed up for an hour at a crack, so we shouldn't waste his time." 

Mulder glared at him. "So we can adjourn the meeting to my room. I can profile in bed." 

"It's not a question of can you," Scully reminded him gently. "It's _should_ you. And the answer is no." 

Mulder sighed in exasperation. "All right, let's get this show on the road, then. Where are we?" 

Zajas sighed. "Your preliminary profile was set up and the school populations of all the schools with a Seven Sisters Creek victim. We got four hits. When we expanded it to include all the contiguous school districts, we got a grand total of fourteen." 

Scully was startled. "That's a very small result!" 

Zajas nodded. "It's a lot better than we dared hope for; with the old profile we'd never scored fewer than 450. This one does what a profile is supposed to do: narrows an impossibly large suspect list down into a smaller, much more manageable size." 

"So what are we doing to focus on the most likely candidates?" That was the Baltimore Regional FBI representative, C. Jay Rosenthal. 

"First we checked with the Social Security Administration to see if any of the suspects were dead or disabled; that filtered out three: two dead and one a paraplegic, all from car crashes. We ran them through the IRS data bank and matched employment and residency information against the constellation of the murders." 

"Considering the large number of victims and their geographical diversity, that should give you one prime candidate," Mulder said calmly. "The only way there could be two is if they're partners." 

Zajas nodded. "Either that, or some of the vics aren't part of the pattern." 

"I would think that if one person lived or worked at the same time and place as forty-eight similar murders over a fifteen year stretch of time, there has to be a significant connection," Skinner remarked. "Or he has the worst luck on the planet..." 

Everyone chuckled. 

"So, who's your prime candidate?" That was Captain Martin Jeshner of the Baltimore Major Crimes Task Force. 

Zajas turned toward one of his companions. "Tony? You did the work up." 

Tony was an older man, steel gray hair the same color of his suit, the New York State Trooper's purple tie dim and subdued against the darker grey shirt. 

"Tony Marrinaccio," he introduced himself. "I was a Pomona County deputy sheriff when this all started; I've been with the state police for ten years. This was my first major case and I've followed it all the way here. I've always had a favorite candidate for the murders, but he didn't fit the original profile and I couldn't get enough hard evidence to convince anyone." 

He opened a manila folder that had been resting on the table in front of him and brought out a sheaf of papers. He passed them out to everyone. 

"The new profile and the new path it laid out for us has nominated Scipio High School drop-out Ricky Lee Mathers," he began summarizing the content of the dossier. 

  * The meeting went on for nearly two hours. Skinner finally realized how long they had been talking and glanced worriedly at Mulder. 



The younger man was watching Marrinaccio intensely. It seemed to Skinner that Mulder's eyes were the only part of him that was alive; Mulder was utterly motionless in the wheelchair. Skinner had known him for years and knew that Mulder was hyperactive: he was never completely still unless sedated. 

Mulder was completely motionless, now. He seemed to be focusing all his limited energy into listening, assimilating... profiling. 

Skinner's decision was instantaneous. 

"Gentlemen. Ladies." He interrupted the discussion. The officers around the conference table fell silent. Mulder blinked slowly, clearly having some trouble shifting gears. 

"We've been here for nearly two hours. We all have some field work to do. We'll have another meeting here in two days. In the meantime, you out-of- towners need to go claim your hotel rooms and get started." 

Zajas and several others glanced guiltily at Mulder, who had relaxed back in the wheelchair. Scully was standing behind him; his head was pillowed against her body. He seemed to be asleep, except that his body was not limp. He was rigid in the chair, his eyes closed but his jaw locked. 

Frowning, Skinner waved everyone out. 

Once they were alone, Skinner turned to the partners. "I'm sorry. I never intended this go on so long." 

Scully was gently massaging Mulder's shoulders. "That's all right, sir. He would have kicked up a fuss if we'd tried to leave earlier." 

"I would not have," Mulder rumbled, though he did not open his eyes. "I just wouldn't have gone." 

Scully glanced at Skinner, who shrugged. "Let's get him back to bed, then, shall we?" 

That woke Mulder up. "I can manage, sir," he said pointedly. "Would you authorize Kim, or someone she recommends, to do some research for me?" 

Skinner nodded. "I can do that. What Kim can't manage I'll authorize her to delegate. If she gets much busier I'm going to have to assign her an AA of her own." 

They all chuckled at that, but they all knew it was true. 

* * *

The task force's renewed interest in the case inevitably came to the attention of local media, and the story broke almost at once. The six-o'clock local news carried the story. Everyone knew that one of the local cops under Captain Jeshan had tipped them, and some people were angry. 

Zajas was not. "This was inevitable, and you know it," he advised the people who complained. They were eating dinner together in the Residence Inn's dining room. "Be happy that Mulder's stationary and we can make him our media liaison." 

Lieutenant Raym Bentley, of the Newburgh NY police department, looked more unhappy. "Is that really a good idea?" he asked. "I've heard some awfully weird stuff about Spooky Mulder..." 

Zajas's friendly expression flattened out. "You were at the meeting," he growled. "Was he a weirdo?" 

Bentley stood his ground. "You know he wasn't," he growled. "But face it, Zajas, the man hunts down flying saucers and aliens, werewolves and vampires for a living!" 

Zajas shrugged. "So? He's also the best profiler BSU ever produced, and when you're comparing him to men like Hazelwood and Douglas and Lanning, that's damned high praise. He's made significant contributions to nearly five hundred serial offender investigations, Bentley. And if Eugene Tooms wasn't an alien, and Howard Graves wasn't an angry ghost, you couldn't prove it by the case files. So you do your job and let Mulder do his." 

"Okay..." Bentley shrugged it off. "You're the boss." 

* * *

**FBI AGENT REOPENS SERIAL MURDER CASE FROM** **HOSPITAL BED**

Mulder stared at the headline on the final edition of the paper and then looked up at Zajas. "You want me to what?" 

"I want you and/or Scully to be our media liaison," Zajas repeated the statement. He had come back to Oakwoods after dinner. "Preferably you." 

"Are you possessed?!" Mulder demanded. 

Zajas chuckled and dragged a chair closer. Mulder was not sitting up; he had elevated the head of the bed enough that he and Zajas could talk comfortably, but he was clearly exhausted. 

"C'mon, Mulder; it's not that strange an idea... and with you taking all the public flak, the rest of us, safely anonymous, can get the job done." 

"But I'm--" 

"You're on restricted duty," Zajas forestalled him. "I checked with Assistant Director Skinner. I know that profilers never stop working. So for your two hours a day that you aren't resting your body and working on the profile, you can talk to a reporter or two, face a camera or two. The limitations on your time will limit the questions and the facility's rules will limit access. When they get obnoxious, the staff will toss them out for you." 

"Do you want me to distract them?" Mulder asked. "I've been on the X Files for quite a while, now; there's a ton of good stories in there." 

Zajas grinned. "If you like. Face it, Mulder, you're actually the one best suited for providing the quotable quote for the evening news. If you think it's time to scare the UNSUB into doing something stupid... who am I to second guess our profiler? Go for it. Do what you can to keep the newshounds out of our way, use 'em if the opportunity presents itself. Amuse yourself, Mulder. You look bored." 

Mulder chuckled. "A little. And not looking forward to Monday." 

"What's Monday?" 

"I start PT." 

Zajas was shocked and showed it. "You're kidding." 

Mulder shook his head slowly, amused at Zajas's reaction. "Nope. I've been promised." 

"Damn. I thought you'd be on that two hours a day schedule for a couple of weeks, at least. Are you really ready for PT?" 

"Emotionally I am. Physically?" Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. We'll find out." 

Zajas took a deep breath. "Changes nothing," he decided. "You're our media guy, with Scully for distracting the male reporters." 

"Don't let her hear you talking about her like that," Mulder warned. "She knows she's attractive and doesn't need her self esteem artificially boosted. Treat her like a girl and she'll take you down, Tom. She's tougher than I am and a better shot." 

"Short person syndrome," Zajas grinned, accentuating the genderless word choice. 

"Don't go there," Mulder warned again. "I'm not kidding." 

Zajas waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, Mulder. She's too valuable as a pathologist and as your support squad for me to waste her doing grunt work. She'll get copies of all forty-eight autopsies to compare. That should keep her busy while you're catching up on your beauty sleep." 

"Send us two copies of each." Mulder suggested. "We'll send one to Skinner's AA at JEH. She's got a data base program to enter the particulars. If Kim gets the pool working on that, Scully can find and concentrate on discrepancies; commonalities and differences will be easier to ID... You get the picture." 

Zajas nodded. "Will do. I want to take her along this evening, Mulder. We've got an appointment to talk to the missing girl's parents and her boyfriend." 

Mulder looked interested. "The boyfriend? He was gutshot trying to protect Colleen. Is he recovered enough to be interviewed? Last I heard he wasn't expected to live." 

"Neither were you a few days ago," Zajas pointed out with a grin. 

Mulder made a face at him. 

"He regained consciousness this morning calling her name. His parents broke it to him. He's in crappy shape, but he's demanding to speak to us about Miss Lalka so we want to give him his chance. You can't go; I figured your partner would be the next best bet." 

Mulder nodded. "She's good with the vics." 

Zajas grinned. "And she knows what you want to know." 

"Has he done a photo lineup yet?" 

"Nope," Zajas shook his head. "We sent a sketch artist to him right away. We don't have a remotely current pic of Mathers and I don't want to screw the kid up. It can wait." 

"How off the grid is Mathers?" 

"He hasn't filed income tax forms in a dozen years, but his employers routinely pay him on the books, so what's happened is that their employment records, filed with the Social Security Administration, are the only documentation we have of where he's been or where he may be, now." 

"Are they cooperating?" 

"Slowly." 

"What about driver's licenses...?" 

"He seems to be still carrying his old New York State license. It can be renewed by mail as long as he offers a valid NYS address. So he has to go back to pick it up... once every eight years." 

"That's no help..." 

"Right. The one he's carrying now is good for three more years." 

"New York only renews every eight years? And by mail??" 

Zajas nodded. "There's talk of tightening it up; the system is practically designed to allow fraud! But nothing's been done. The state's got a lot of other problems that are more important." 

* * *

Mulder had intentionally not reminded anyone to switch his IV back to steady flow after he went back to his room. Scully went off to meet Zajas at a hospital on the other side of town to interview the wounded boyfriend. 

He hit the button he was privately calling the "rescue" button when he had to, but he tried to stretch it out as much as he could. He knew he could not get anywhere in physical therapy until he was weaned off the IV painkillers, so he decided to take the opportunity to work at it a little. 

Scully had intentionally kept his room lights off and the drapes across his windows open, providing tacit encouragement to wake up with the dawn and fall asleep as darkness fell. He never remembered to do anything about the drapes when he was out of his bed, so by the time he wanted to turn on a light or shut the drapes, he was installed in the bed and it wasn't worth the trouble to get up. Scully's plan had been working; he had been on a diurnal pattern since he had come here, and he had been mildly bemused by it. He had always believed himself nocturnal given the opportunity. 

Scully had called and told him she had ordered him a pizza in apology, but she was going to consult with the forensics unit that had handled the crime scene of Colleen Lalka's kidnapping after they talked to Jimmy Fremd. He had forgiven her and asked her to find out a few things for him. 

The pizza was ambrosial; it was even worth the trouble it was to eat it with his hands still practically immobilized in plaster and tape. 

By the time he had eaten half of it, it was dark in his room and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He could not put the pizza away, so he just moved the lap table back a little, settled back, hit the rescue button a couple of times and let himself fall asleep. 

* * *

It didn't last long. Without the steady flow of painkiller, the rescue jolts were only good for about a half hour. When the painkiller wore off, the pain woke him up. He hit the button and let himself fade back into sleep as the pain surrendered. 

After that cycle had gone around four or five times he groggily realized that he was exhausted and that he was not getting any rest. These short naps were making him miserable. The fact that he rarely slept well during a profile did not make this any easier; he lay in the dimly-illuminated room staring out at the stars, thinking about Ricky Lee Mathers and about Colleen Lalka, the currently-missing cheerleader from Hunt Valley High School, and hoping that the two were not together. 

Even though he was reasonably sure that Colleen was already dead. 

It was a mark of his weariness and his focus on the work that he had forgotten that Scully had promised to come back and sleep at Oakwoods. He never heard the door open, nor did he hear her footsteps as she approached the bed. 

"Mulder...?" she asked softly. 

Startled by the unexpected voice, he jumped -- and cried out in agony as the unguarded movement flexed the torn muscles in his thigh. Shocked, he tried to curl up to cradle the pain, but that made it worse. 

Scully caught him as he collapsed, sobbing, shocked out of control and too stressed to regain it. She stretched out one hand and hit the panic button on the bedrail. She was glad it was a friendly nurse -- Marti Wendeman -- who responded. 

Marti took one look at the patient and went to the PCA. She scowled. "Who turned this thing off?!" She turned it back on, hit the override to give him a big rescue jolt, then set up the steady flow again. 

The drug hit Mulder like a truck. He sagged against his partner and in moments was unconscious. Scully let Marti help her lay him down gently, then let herself shudder. 

Marti frowned. "Dana...?" 

Scully took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Dr Donnainess turned off the steady flow after breakfast; Mulder and I had a morning meeting, and Mulder wanted to be clear-headed for it. We all agreed that he could spend the morning on patient-administered dosages alone." 

"But no one came to turn it back on," Marti nodded. "Why didn't he call one of us? Any one of us could have turned it back on." 

Scully shook her head, and gently reached down to smooth the hair away from his face. "He was probably trying to wean himself off it. He wants to go to PT on Monday off the IV." 

Marti looked sympathetic. "I can understand that. PT with an IV is hard, and sometimes the IV has to be removed and reinserted. No one wants to put up with that twice a day for however long..." She studied the patient for a moment. "What do you think happened here?" 

Scully was studying his face. "He's an insomniac at the best of times, and profiling rarely lets him relax. When I came in, he was zoned-out, staring out the window, crying. When I spoke he flinched -- I guess he hadn't heard me come in, so my voice startled him. The pain must have been terrible..." 

"I'll say, if he was crying," Marti said sympathetically. 

Scully shook her head. "No, I suspect he was crying for Colleen Lalka and her family, and the families of forty-eight other victims of the serial killer we're hunting. He didn't notice the pain till I disturbed him out of his trance." 

"Well, he's going to sleep till morning, now," Marti pointed out. "Why don't you go home and get a good night's sleep, yourself?" 

Scully sighed wanly. "Because he never does what's expected of him. If we count on him sleeping through the night, something will happen." 

Marti shook her head. "Not good enough. We're here; we'll call you if he needs you, but I seriously don't anticipate any likelihood of trouble, here. He's out, and no one can fight off opiates in doses like I gave him. And I'm going to call the night services doctor so he can prescribe a higher rate for Mr Mulder during the day. He needs more rest than he's been getting." 

"He'll fight you," Scully warned. "He wants off the IV altogether." 

Marti shrugged. "He's clearly not ready for that. And if we keep him semi- conscious for a couple of days he'll get a headstart on really healing. His temp is still just under 101, you know." 

Scully was startled. "Still? It should be dropping; Donnainess gave him that augmentin cocktail starting yesterday!" 

Marti shook her head. "It's not going to work if he's up and worrying, stressing himself. He needs to be asleep. You're a doctor; you know that." 

"Zajas will have a fit," Scully observed. "There's a press conference here tomorrow just so Mulder can talk to them." 

Marti grinned. "Not going to happen," she predicted. "You'll have to do it yourself." 

"Peachy." Scully made a face. "Maybe I'll call AD Skinner and see if he'll take it off me." 

Marti was tidying up, straightening the blankets and tucking the patient in. "Do what you have to." Then she stopped for a moment. "Damn." 

Scully turned to look at her and blanched. Marti's hand, and the sheet below Mulder's leg wound, were both bloody. 

Scully did go home eventually. The staff waited until she returned the next morning after ten o'clock before they lightened Mulder's medication and let him wake up for breakfast. While she waited for him, she caught up on the updates in his chart. When he stirred she set it aside. 

"Mulder? Mulder, focus on me. C'mon, wake up..." 

"Ssh..." He heard his voice slur, stopped and tried again. "Scully?" 

"Yes, me. Who else? C'mon... wake up." 

He mumbled something unintelligible and faded off again. 

Scully shook him gently. "C'mon, Mulder. It's breakfast time. Aren't you hungry?" 

He did not open his eyes. "No. Lemme sleep..." 

"I never thought I'd hear those words from you!" she chuckled. She waved her offering under his nose and waited while he fought to wake up. 

He opened his eyes and studied the greasy paper-wrapped sandwich in her hand and then shifted his attention to her. 

"That's a bribe," he stated flatly. "What's going on?" 

She took a deep breath. "It's not exactly a bribe, Mulder. Look, you're healing but not fast enough. You still have that low- grade fever. You're over-exerting yourself. Last night was the last straw." 

"I'm not a child, Scully. Just say it." 

"When you flinched you ripped some stitches," she explained. "You didn't lose a lot of blood, but in your condition, any amount is too much. You're going to be medicated to sleep every night for a week." She stated it baldly. She had not been a party to the decision, but she could not fault it. "Lights out at 9pm, breakfast at 9am. During the day you'll be on the steady flow with the patient administered rescue available as necessary." 

He opened his mouth to protest and then shut it. "I hate this," he muttered, not looking at her. 

"Mulder, healing is like justice: delayed means denied. If you don't start getting better you're going to get worse. The longer that infection hangs on, the stronger it'll get. This is a battle; if we don't win, you lose. If you're willing to trade your leg and your career for a few sleepless nights..." 

He shuddered. 

She gentled her tone. "Mulder, I know you're not just being stubborn. No one likes to be in this position..." 

He smiled, albeit still a little vague with the drugs, but amused nonetheless. "Lots of guys like being on their backs. Gives a good view and you can reach all the sweet spots..." 

"Mulder!" 

He shrugged and let his smile fade. "I'm not fighting you or Donnainess over this, Scully. I'm not an MD --I couldn't hack the math and chemistry courses. I'm angry at the situation and I still feel like a chump for getting shot in the first place and putting so many people to so much trouble..." 

She laughed gently. "Mulder, you're not inconveniencing any of these medical professionals. This is their job and they enjoy their job just as much as you do. If it wasn't for situations like yours, they'd be out of work!" 

That concept clearly startled him. "I never thought of it like that..." 

"Just like if it wasn't for monsters, human or otherwise, you and I would be out of work. So don't feel guilty." 

"I'll work on it," he promised. "Now can I have that Egg McMuffin ?" 

Scully laughed and unwrapped it for him. 

* * *

Lunchtime brought with it a rude twist to the case. Mulder was just finishing the remains of his pizza from the night before when the phone rang. Scully answered it. 

"You're kidding." 

Mulder put down the pizza and turned his attention to her. She was listening intently to the caller, not speaking at all. 

"Do you want me to do the autopsy?" she asked finally. 

Mulder wilted. Someone must have found Colleen Lalka's body. Suddenly the two slices of pizza he had just eaten were as heavy as lead in his stomach. For all that his career choices and success depended on the continued existence of serial killers and rapists, murder still sickened him, and the intentional murder of the young and innocent was often the worst. 

Scully hung up the phone and turned toward him. "You'll never guess." 

"They found Colleen Lalka's body." 

Scully shook her head. "No. Ricky Lee Mathers' body." 

That startled him. "Mathers is dead? How? Where?" 

"They found his body in a dumpster outside the pizza shop where Colleen and her boyfriend Jimmy Fremd and their pals like to hang out." 

"So it's not a natural death." 

Scully shook her head. "No. COD appears to be ligature strangulation, but there's a lot of wounds. It sounds like it will take me a while to put it all into some semblance of order." 

"When's the autopsy?" 

"They're waiting for me." 

"Go! Go!" 

Scully stopped and stared at him. "You are going to sleep while I'm gone." 

"Scully..." he grimaced. 

She shook her head. "I'm serious. You'll only be speculating until I get back with the facts anyway. Sleep while I'm gone and I'll call when I'm a couple of miles out so you'll be awake for the data from the autopsy." She waited for consent and frowned when she did not get it. "C'mon, Mulder. You don't have the energy to spare to waste it with idle speculation. Take a nap and I'll wake you up when we can discuss factual data." 

He nodded slowly. "All right. I concede the logic." 

She grinned at him. "That's my job, Mulder. Logic, science, reason... I'll go get Marti to put you out for a while." 

"Scully...!" 

"It's not that I don't trust you, Mulder, but I know you too well. You'd change your mind before I was out of the lot and still fret away all those hours. Hang on a minute." 

Scully went out to get the nurse and Mulder glared after her. His irritation was in no way diminished because she was right. He would have stayed awake. 

His partner was back with the senior RN in a moment. Marti smiled at him. "Unscheduled nap, Mr Mulder?" 

"This counts toward my twelve hours for today," he grumbled. "I don't usually sleep this much in a week...!" 

Marti punched in the code and pushed the override on the PCA. Mulder felt himself wilt as the rush hit him. He could feel Scully's fingers on his and her voice was soft in his ear. 

"Yes, we'll take it off your quota for the day, Mulder. Now just relax. Breathe and release, breathe and release..." 

Her voice faded into the darkness. 

* * *

Mulder blinked his eyes open and looked around. He felt groggy and thick-headed, but a moment's glance around oriented him and he remembered being sedated yet again. He grumbled to himself that he should be used to it by now... 

Then he remembered that if he was awake, Scully should be back. There was no sign of her in the room. He thumbed the call button. 

Footsteps came hurrying down the hall. "Mr Mulder?" 

It was his only male nurse, Peter Knolland. "Pete, where's Scully? Shouldn't she be back by now?" 

"She phoned. She went home for the night and said she'd be back in the morning." 

Mulder frowned. "She was only going to Baltimore for an autopsy. What time is it?" 

"Time for breakfast," Pete shrugged. "9:12am." 

Mulder blinked in shock. They had sedated him at 1:30pm the day before! "Would you hand me the phone? I need to call her." 

"She'll be here in a few minutes, Mr Mulder." 

Mulder swallowed hard. "Are you sure? She's usually here by now. Did she call today?" He hated how pathetic he sounded, but he needed to know more than he needed to maintain any macho facade before the staff here. 

"We haven't heard from her this morning, Mr Mulder, but if she was going to be late she would have called." 

"She's already late." 

Peter saw the tension visibly growing in his patient and realized that Mulder was going to worry until he knew for sure. He brought the phone over and handed the handset to the patient, who cradled it awkwardly between his head and the pillow, braced with one plaster-encased hand. Mulder recited the number and Paul dialed. 

It only rang twice, then his partner's harried voice became audible. "Scully." 

"It's me. Where are you?" Mulder hardly noticed when Peter retreated to give him privacy for the call. 

"Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't realize the time. How long have you been awake?" 

"Just a few minutes. But you were supposed to be back here sixteen hours ago." 

"I know. I'm sorry." 

"So, what's going on?" 

"Jimmy Fremd is dead." 

That was Colleen's boyfriend. "Did you get to talk to him, first?" 

"Yes, briefly. He described the kidnapper as a big burly guy with a handgun the size of a cannon. Which did match the injuries Jimmy sustained." 

"Poor kid never really had a chance, did he?" Mulder was saddened by the teenager's death but he was also processing the description. Ricky Lee Mathers had been five foot nine and had weighed about 140; no one could have described him as big or burly. 

"Actually, he did." Scully's voice cut into his preoccupation. "He was recovering. After Zajas and I left him he was assaulted in his room. Someone cut his throat and he bled to death before they could get him up to the OR." 

Mulder was stunned. "Oh, my God!" 

"Yeah." 

"So, Ricky Lee was already dead when Jimmy Fremd was murdered..." Mulder was thinking out loud. "Were you and Zajas still there, still in the building when it happened?" 

"No. We'd gone to see the officers who were investigating the Mathers murder. We'd been gone a couple of hours." 

"Suspects?" He was listening very hard. "Scully?" 

"It happened during visiting hours, Mulder," she sighed. "The locals are checking employees but there's no feasible way to check up on all the visitors in the building; we'd have to interview all the patients to find out who came to see them... It'd be a tremendous amount of work for a very low likelihood of success." 

Mulder took a deep breath. "Scully, I don't have the file, but I remember that Ricky Lee had a buddy a year ahead of him in school. Ricky Lee was an utter social misfit --the only thing he could do really well was catch the football. He wasn't even much of a runner, but he could get downfield and catch the ball. All the usual football hero stuff applied, especially after he caught the winning touchdown in the homecoming game his junior year. The coaches and booster club were already talking about the NFL. Then he broke his neck diving off a dock into a lake that summer; he recovered to have a normal life... but the magic hands weren't magic anymore. 

"The school acted like he'd damaged himself on purpose to sabotage their hopes of a championship. He was harassed and bullied, all the girls who'd been lining up to date him disappeared... He went from hero to goat fast, and he dropped out of school before Christmas." 

Scully was quick on the uptake. "Did the buddy try to protect him from some of the harassment?" 

"Saved him from a good bit of it, apparently. His name was... um... Galen Garay. In school they called him "Gator" because he was so unpredictable and violent. He'd dropped out the year before but he hung around to be with Ricky Lee." 

"And when Ricky Lee couldn't take his change in status any more, he disappeared out, too," Scully speculated. 

"Got it in one, Scully," Mulder grinned. "Tell Zajas to do the IRS and Social Security checks on Garay; if there's a connection, it means Mathers and Garay were partners, but had a falling-out. Garay killed Mathers and then went for Jimmy Fremd because he was an eyewitness." 

"But Mulder-- Mathers was tortured to death. Would a friend and companion of so many years do that?" 

"Not normally, no," he agreed. "But there's very little normal about these two guys." 

"That certainly seems to be the truth!" 

"And Garay was a 'big and burly guy,'" Mulder pointed out. "He'd been an offensive lineman when he played." 

"Jesus." 

"Where are you now, Scully?" 

"I'm about to start the autopsy on Mathers." 

"Are you anywhere near the hospital where Jimmy Fremd was killed?" 

"Same place. The county morgue is in the basement, under the ER." 

A thrill of terror sleeted through him. "Scully, tell me you aren't alone." 

"The deiner's gone to get the body. I'm in the locker room." 

"Where's Zajas? Isn't he going to witness?" 

"He detoured to the front lobby for coffee. He should be back any minute." 

He could feel the terror rising in his chest, making it hard to breathe. "Scully, go find him. Meet him halfway. Get out of there and into a public corridor!" 

"Mulder, what...?" 

"Scully, please! Garay is probably still there!" 

He was not surprised by the silence that greeted that statement. Whenever he came up with one of these sudden insights, when he pulled the answer out of the ether and demonstrated yet again that he had earned his nickname, she always had to pause to readjust. He suspected that, at least early on, that she had refrained from immediate reaction out of courtesy; she paused for a moment to re-word her response. Now it was just a habit. 

But she usually reacted within a few moments. "Scully?" 

Nothing. 

"Scully!" 

The rapid signal that meant the other party had disconnected rang in his ear. 

Frustration warred with terror, now; he could not even reach his phone to dial it. Magically, Peter was suddenly there. 

"Take it easy, Mr Mulder. You want to make another call?" 

Forcing his breathing under control, Mulder nodded and recited the number. That line only rang once. 

"Zajas." 

"This is Mulder. Get down to the morgue. I think Mathers' partner Galen Garay killed him and there's a good chance he's still in the hospital. I was just talking to Scully and I lost her." 

"On my way." 

Mulder relaxed fractionally when Zajas did not argue with him. "Thanks." 

"No prob. You know that maybe her cell just cut out: there's a lot of metal around here." 

"I know," Mulder admitted. "But if Galen Garay is there, neither of you is safe alone: in high school this guy was six-two, two-eighty and he has a handgun." 

"Eeek," was Zajas' emotionless response. "Last set of stairs, Mulder. Two minutes." 

Mulder forced himself to breathe normally. All his usual glib eloquence deserted him: all he could even think was, "Please, please, please..." 

"I'm putting the phone in my pocket, Mulder," Zajas told him, and then did it without waiting for any response. 

"Agent Scully?" Zajas called. Mulder hoped he had his weapon out; Garay was an experienced killer who would not give anyone a break. 

Strain though he might, Mulder could not hear any response to Zajas' call. 

"Agent Scully? Harvey? Anyone down here?" 

"Tom! Look out!" 

Mulder felt a thrill of hope: muffled as it was, that was certainly Scully's voice. 

Then there was a flurry of gunfire and random noises. His heart in his mouth, Mulder could only listen and pray. He heard Zajas curse and the distinct combination of sounds \--an aspirated grunt and a gasp-- that meant that the trooper was hit. 

Not knowing the situation, Mulder kept still, straining to hear. There were muffled sounds that were too indistinct to tell him much. The gunfire had stopped after that single flurry but the situation was still ongoing or Tom Zajas would have said something. 

Mulder looked up suddenly. "Pete? Pete!" 

The nurse was just outside in the hallway. "Yes, Mr Mulder?" 

"Call 911. Officer in trouble, shots fired, officer down, in the county morgue. If they give you a hard time give 'em my name: the officers are my partner and New York State Trooper Tom Zajas. The suspect is a white male, thirty-two years old, brown hair and eyes, six foot two ex-football lineman. He has a firearm and he has killed before. Extreme caution, armed and dangerous. His name is Galen "Gator" Garay. G-A-R-A-Y." 

Pete blinked at the torrent of information. 

"Got all that?" 

Pete nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think so. You keeping your line open to Miss Scully?" 

"But I can't hear anything, right now," Mulder added. "Tell 'em we'll call back if we get any new information." 

"Okay. Be right back." 

Mulder could only wait. There were some indistinct sounds, but everything was muffled because Zajas's cell phone was still in his pocket. 

Peter came back a few minutes later. "The dispatcher didn't argue. I heard it go over the radio while I was still giving her details. There'll be a hundred cops there in a few minutes." 

"Thanks, Pete." 

"Why are you still so tense?" 

"There are three possible outcomes," Mulder fretted. "One, suicide by cop. Two, he grabs Scully or Zajas or both of 'em and uses 'em as hostages or, three, he decides he may as well go for it, and he kills them both and dares the SWAT unit to come and get him." 

"That sounds like scenario one," Pete commented. 

"In number one he dies alone," Mulder growled. "In three he takes my partner and my friend with him." 

"You forgot number four and five, you know." 

Mulder glared at the nurse, whose calm was interfering with his rage. 

Pete shrugged. "Four, your partner and Trooper Zajas get the guy themselves; five, the hundred cops stampede the bad guy and they catch him." 

Mulder shuddered. "God..." 

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr Mulder?" 

Mulder forced himself to calm down. "Pray." 

Mulder had not really expected to hear sirens, since Scully had described the morgue as being in the basement under the Emergency Department. But he was utterly surprised when he heard the distinctly short sharp sound of a flashbang exploding near the phone. The familiar sounds of SWAT team coordination were a balm to his ears. 

"Medic!" A voice cried very near the phone. "Officer down!" 

"I'm okay," Mulder heard Tom Zajas grumble. "Just don't move me. Did you get Garay?" 

"No sign of the suspect yet, sir," the officer told him. 

"What about Agent Scully? She's five-two, red hair, probably wearing scrubs --she was about to start an autopsy. She has to be here...!" 

"I'm here, Tom," came a familiar female voice. 

Mulder let his eyes close and sighed in utter relief. 

"Here; it's Mulder," was all Tom Zajas said as he handed her the phone from his pocket. 

"Mulder?" She was startled, but moved aside to let the medical team deal with Zajas's injuries. "Mulder, are you all right?" 

"I wasn't just in a gunfight, Scully," he said sharply. "Are you hurt?" 

"No, I'm not," she assured him. "Someone hit me, knocked me down. I have a headache but I'm not injured." 

"How's Tom?" 

"He took one through the body, Mulder, but he's doing quite well. He's being taken to the ambulance, now." 

"Did the SWAT guys get Garay?" 

"No, Mulder. There doesn't appear to be anyone here but us. He must've taken off right after he shot Tom." 

"Dammit! But you're okay, right?" 

She sighed, understanding his distress, and made sure he could hear her smile. "I'm fine, Mulder. Really. Someone grabbed me from behind and slammed me into the bank of lockers. I was dazed and let myself slide to the floor. He tried to kick me once but I rolled and it mostly missed me. I'm not hurt." 

"You get yourself checked out, Scully! You know better than I do why!" 

"I will, Mulder; I promise." She gentled her tone. "I'll be a while getting back, between getting checked out up in the ER here and then debriefing. You go back to sleep." 

"I just woke up, Scully," he growled. "I'm not going back to sleep right away. You stay with Tom." 

That startled her. "Tom? Why?" 

"Because Garay's still at large; he may still be in the hospital somewhere. Don't leave Tom alone." 

"All right, Mulder. I'm hanging up, now. The SWAT captain wants to talk to me." 

"Okay. Come back when you can?" 

"Of course, Mulder. As soon as I can." 

She did not say good-bye, but then, she never did. He sighed with relief. They'd survived one more crisis relatively unscathed. 

Pete came back in with a breakfast tray. "You up for something to eat, Mr Mulder?" 

He managed a creditable smile. "Sure, Pete. Thanks. And thanks for all your help." 

"Is Miss Scully all right?" 

"She's a little bruised; the bad guy smacked her around a little. But she's okay." 

Pete nodded. "Good." He pulled up a chair and began to feed Mulder his breakfast. 

* * *

It took Scully several hours to get clear of the hospital and morgue. She rescheduled the autopsy for the next day; she was just too shaken by the close call to face doing it now. Besides, she needed to set up a bodyguard schedule for Tom and get back to Mulder. A national BOLO had gone out on Garay and lunchtime found her, weary and sore, making her way to her partner's bedside. 

He was watching the noon news: a local channel had covered the incident at the morgue in some detail and had even gotten most of the facts correct. Scully stopped in the doorway to watch. 

The local reporter was interviewing Major Mike Montcalm, who was Captain Jeshner's commanding officer. 

"I want to give a good deal of the credit, here," the Major said pompously, "to FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder. He's on limited duty, still hospitalized after being shot by one serial murderer, but he has identified the suspect in today's shoot out at the county morgue, where two Task Force officers, one a New York State Trooper and the other an FBI pathologist, were injured. We've got a nationwide alert out on Galen Garay, commonly called "Gator," who is now identified as the Sibley County Killer and is wanted in connections with forty-eight murders over the last fifteen years." 

Scully frowned. "I don't like that." 

Mulder turned, only then aware of her presence, and grinned at her. "Are you jealous because he remembered my name and not yours?" 

She snorted, knowing he was teasing. "No, I'm concerned that he's dumping it all on Garay and giving you all the credit. What's to stop Garay from finding you here?" 

Mulder looked thoughtful. "That could work, Scully," he agreed. "Call Jeshner and see if he can get a few guys down here so they can grab him if he comes for me." 

She could only shake her head in amazement. "Aren't you scared at all?" she inquired. "You're helpless in here!" 

He blinked at her, suddenly utterly innocent. "You're staying with me, now, aren't you?" 

She dropped into the chair beside the bed. "Mulder, you're incorrigible!" 

"I'm hungry," he said placidly. "Lunch should be along, soon. Have you eaten?" 

"I... I don't think I even had breakfast, much less lunch," she admitted, settling into the recliner beside his bed and putting her feet up with a sigh. 

"Kick off your shoes," he advised. "You don't need 'em in here." 

"The floors are cold," she pointed out. 

"You're not walking. Relax a little, Scully. It's okay." He watched as she settled back, toed off her shoes and was asleep in moments. He pushed his call button. 

The nurse who responded was Ellie and Mulder grinned at her. "Hi, Ellie," he greeted her softly. "Can I order her a lunch, too? She didn't get breakfast this morning." 

Ellie glanced at the sleeping redhead and smiled indulgently. "Sure, Mr Mulder." Then she took an extra blanket out of the cabinet and shook it out over Scully's sleeping form. 

Mulder sighed and Ellie glared at him until she realized that he was watching Scully's face. She gentled her expression; he hadn't been ogling the sleeping woman's body at all: he'd been studying her face with an expression so wistful that Ellie found herself fighting back tears. 

"Why don't you relax until lunch comes, Mr Mulder?" she suggested. "You two can share our latest culinary delight when it gets here." 

He tore his eyes away from his partner and grinned wanly at the nurse. "Okay, Ellie. As long as you and your co-conspirators keep your fingers off the morphine switch! I'm just fine, thank you very much!" 

Ellie laughed at him. "I know; you got a good night's sleep, for a change. Refreshing, isn't it?" 

He stuck out his tongue at her and she snickered. 

"Go to sleep. You clearly need a nap." 

Mulder watched her leave, smiling. Ellie and the rest of the staff here were being awfully nice to him, especially considering how much chaos and upheaval he'd brought with him. 

He was just settling back for a little snooze when the phone at his bedside rang. He needed both hands to maneuver the handset, but he was getting a lot of practice. Finally he had the handset braced against his head, held in place with one casted hand and his pillow. 

"Mulder." 

"Agent Mulder? This is Marty Jeshan, Baltimore PD." 

"Hi, Marty. What's up?" 

"I thought you'd like to know that Tom Zajas is out of surgery and already wide awake and demanding discharge," came the amused response. 

"I knew it would take more than a bullet to keep Tom down," Mulder felt some of his internal tension relax. "Marty, can you have the Task Force set up over here at Oakwoods?" 

"When?" 

"Now. I want my wing staked out." 

"Why?" 

"Your boss went on the news at noon and credited me with identifying Garay and blaming him for all forty-eight murders. I'm really not capable of much, right now with these casts on my hands. If he shows up here looking for me, I'm going to need help to grab him." 

"Jesus Christ!" Jeshan was shocked. "What was he thinking?!" 

Mulder almost shrugged but then didn't bother for fear of dislodging the phone. "It made a good sound bite; he dumped all the credit on me and sounded very magnanimous." 

"He hung you out to dry, Mulder!" 

Mulder chuckled softly. "So get some of your glory hounds over here, Marty. Scully's here, but she's already lost one confrontation with Garay. We need backup. I can't use a firearm yet." 

"I'll be there in twenty minutes. I'll have the locals there in five!" 

"Gently, Marty. Unmarked units, plainclothes officers, please. We don't want to scare him off." 

"On the way, Mulder. On the way." 

* * *

Mulder was not surprised when Tony Marrinaccio strolled into his room a few minutes later. "Hi, Tony." 

"Hi, Mulder. Skinner's right behind me; I saw him parking his car when I came inside." 

Mulder could not help but grin. "And the party hasn't started yet." 

Marrinaccio set his briefcase down and went back out into the hall. When he returned a few minutes later Skinner was with him and they were each carrying a chair. 

Skinner set his chair down just inside the door. His attention flicked from Scully, who was still sleeping, to Mulder, who was grinning at him. 

"Is she all right?" 

Mulder glanced at his partner for just a moment before returning his attention to his supervisor. "She's just bruised and banged-up a little." 

Skinner nodded slowly. "Okay. There's a SWAT team outside doing a stealth approach to a perimeter. It's very odd to be in here and not out there." 

Mulder let himself relax. Now that the backup was in place, he did not have to be on guard. He had been terrified that Garay would appear too soon. He knew that he was helpless, unable to defend himself or his partner, and had been doing the best he could to avoid thinking about what would happen if Garay got there first. 

"Mulder?" 

That was Scully's voice and he struggled to focus. "Yeah?" 

"Go to sleep, partner. We're all right." 

He would have argued but it would have taken too much effort. "Okay," he agreed, not hearing the exhausted slur in his voice. 

Scully stroked his forearm very lightly alongside the IV and in moments was rewarded by seeing her partner relax. When she was sure he was asleep she lifted her hand cautiously and then stretched, reaching for the ceiling with each hand in turn, flexing back muscles that had stiffened while she napped in that chair. 

Skinner watched her back and concentrated very hard on remembering that she was not available; she was one of his subordinates. He could not think of her as a woman. 

"Agent Scully?" 

She turned slowly. "Yes, sir?" 

"How are you?" 

She sighed. "I'm fine. Really," she added when she saw the doubt in his expression. "I'm not hurt. I'm just bruised. I have a headache," she admitted. "I'm okay." 

"All right. How's he?" 

"No worse," she shrugged. "He's not getting better, sir. He needs rest, not all this stress." 

"Well, if he's correct, Garay will be trying for him soon, and if we're lucky, we'll be able to put an end to this fairly quickly." 

"God, I hope so," she sighed. 

"Sounds like you need a rest, too, Agent." 

"I'll rest when this is resolved," she stated, flashing him a glance he preferred to define as annoyed. "Not before." 

Skinner knew there was no point in arguing with her about this and he did not try. He just settled back to wait. 

An uneasy silence settled over the room, broken only by the very quiet chirping of the machinery around the bed. Scully was back in her chair, drowsy but fighting it. Skinner was wound so tight he could hardly breathe. He had seen combat, he had been in HRT when he had been a field agent. He had been on raids that had resembled military missions. 

But he had never done bodyguard duty. The Secret Service was jealous of their prerogatives and he had never worked in Organized Crime, so there had never been an assignment like this one: to step aside from command, yielding it to SAC Scarborough, and to simply sit in this room and wait for a murderer to attack. 

After ten minutes he knew he could not do this. He stood up, intending to quietly pace, and both Scully and Marrinaccio looked up, tensing. He waved them down. 

"I'm just too restless for this waiting game." 

Slowly, Scully relaxed again. 

Marrinaccio sighed wearily, scrubbing at his face with both hands. "This does suck," he agreed. 

Scully eyed him. "You've been following this case longer than anyone," she observed, "Do you think Garay will try today?" 

Marrinaccio nodded, his expression grim. "Rickie Lee was the brains of the outfit. I don't imagine that Garay is bright enough to realize that we might be ready for him." 

"Have you got any thoughts on why he might've killed Mathers?" Skinner asked. He leaned against the wall by the door. "They'd been friends for a long time." 

Marrinaccio shrugged and glanced warily at the man sleeping in the bed. "I suspect we'll never know," he said quietly. "Garay's a classic case for SBC: killing his partner had to have been a conflict over something vitally important, like their survival. If Garay became convinced that Mathers was losing it and was going to make a mistake that would get them both killed or captured, that might have been enough." 

Scully grimaced. "Mathers was tortured, Tony; not just killed." 

Marrinaccio spread his hands helplessly. "Considering their history, that's not too surprising, is it? He and Mathers had to have developed the pattern of treating their victims a certain way. Killing isn't something that humans do without ritualizing it; serial killers are unique in that their ritual includes their own sexual arousal and satisfaction with the act of killing. When the post-mortem on Mathers is complete, I'll bet there will be evidence of sexual abuse that matches the abuse suffered by their female vics." 

Scully looked thoughtful; Skinner just looked confused. 

"How could his partner get demoted to victim, though?" he asked. "As far as we know, all their targets were females." 

"As far as we know," Marrinaccio pointed out. "Consider that these two guys have been successfully locating target women, kidnapping them, torturing them, killing them, and disposing of the bodies in such a way that they haven't even been suspected by any police agency as even being persons of interest in the investigation. Hell, it wasn't till this most recent profile that we even linked all the deaths together! 

"When we looked at that new list of victims, the first and most immediate facts that leaped off the paper was that the perps were escalating: the attacks were coming more and more frequently. They started out at one or two a year, there was a flurry in Sibley County but shortly thereafter it calmed down, again. Most recently they had killed four in four months. None of the other victims were accompanied by any collateral killings; their murder of Jimmy Fremd is totally out of character. In past times, they'd just leave." 

Scully gnawed on her lip as she considered this information. "Out of character for the partnership," she postulated slowly. "But as a solitary killer, Galen Garay is an unknown quantity. He's abandoned his old pattern: he has to devise a new one of his own. Until he does, he may be floundering a bit. Makes him vulnerable..." 

Skinner frowned. "Would that make him easier to catch?" 

"It might," she shrugged minutely, while Marrinaccio nodded. "In any case, we don't know where he is, so if he doesn't show up here we'll be left with posting him to the Marshals and hoping they can bring him in for trial." 

"Hopefully before he commits any more murders." 

"Hopefully." 

* * *

Scully drowsed, comforted by the presence of her partner sleeping beside her and two other armed agents between herself and her helpless partner and the danger of the enemy outside. Sometimes she could hear Skinner and Marrinaccio speaking quietly, and the low rumble of their conversation was reassuring. She let herself smile in her slumber... 

...and jerked awake, reaching for her Glock, blinking back sleep, unclear on what had startled her. She stared, shocked, at the FBI agent standing in the doorway, his arms full of fast food bags. 

Skinner, who had leapt to his feet when the door opened, let himself relax only when he recognized the agent. 

"Dammit, MacGready..." 

"Sorry, sir. SAC Scarborough's compliments, sir; he thought y'all might be getting hungry up here." 

"What time is it?" Scully demanded querulously. 

Skinner glanced at his watch. "5:30." 

Mulder stirred and looked around groggily. "What's goin' on?" 

"Nothing, Mulder. Just dinner." 

Mulder grinned tiredly. "Food is good." 

MacGready came inside and shut the door with his foot. He set the food down on the foot of the bed and started passing out sandwiches and pasteboard scoops of french fries. Everyone settled down to eat. Scully sat beside her partner and nonchalantly broke his double cheeseburger into bite size pieces and fed him. No one paid any attention. 

"So, how long is this stakeout gonna last, sir?" MacGready asked as he finished off his sandwich. "SAC Scarborough has started rotating his HRT personnel off-post: an hour off for three hours on." 

"How long is he prepared to stay on post?" Skinner asked. 

"As long as you need us, sir," MacGready replied. He met the assistant director's eyes without flinching in the least. 

Slowly, Skinner nodded. 

MacGready gathered all the trash and excused himself. "I'm reporting back, sir. The stakeout units are on radio silence but SAC Scarborough's cell is set on vibrate; you can call him." 

Skinner nodded. "Thanks, MacGready. And thank Scarborough for us." 

"You're welcome, sir. This is our job." 

* * *

HRT units rotated out of their sight. Skinner and Marrinaccio took turns going out and wandering the halls in another corridor, where their suspect might not see them, but they would be close enough to hear if Scully screamed. 

Mulder watched his friends getting more and more tense and could not but pick up some of the tension himself. When Brina Drexel came in to do his vitals and administer his sedative that evening, he found himself snarling at her to get out. 

"Mulder!" Scully was shocked. 

He had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, Brina. It's not your fault we're all so tense, and I shouldn't take it out on you." 

"You're right," she said coolly. "And your blood pressure is significantly elevated, Mr Mulder. You need to rest." 

Scully saw him clamp his jaw shut as Brina reached for the port on his IV and administered his sedative. 

"Thanks, Brina," she said softly. She watched as Mulder relaxed and fell asleep. 

"You're welcome, Ms Scully." Brina was watching her patient, too, but then glanced at the other woman. "You look like you need a nap, yourself, you know." 

Scully nodded. "I napped a little this afternoon." 

"Nap a lot," Brina advised pointedly. "When was the last time you got eight uninterrupted hours of sleep?" 

Scully made a face at her. "I'm a doctor, Brina. I learned to function on very little sleep." 

"That doesn't mean you should," Brina pointed out. "And you were younger then." 

"We were all younger once," Scully growled. "Thank you, Brina." 

Shaking her head, the nurse left. 

Skinner, standing in the doorway, had moved aside to let the nurse out. Then he shut the door behind her. "She has a point, Agent Scully. You've been burnin' both ends of the candle ever since he was shot." 

"There was work to be done." 

He nodded. "I know. And you did it well. But you've been effectively on duty 24/7 for a month, Scully. You need to rest. Marrinaccio and I will shift to outside the room. Go to sleep." 

She wanted to argue, but could not dispute the facts: she was tired and scared and dependent on backup to keep her and her helpless partner safe. 

"I hate this, sir," she said tonelessly. 

"I'm not fond of it, either, Agent Scully. But we have our duty to the FBI, to our fellow agents, to the rule of law. I'll take this watch. You are relieved. Go to sleep; I'll wake you in the morning." 

Scully nodded briefly. "Thank you, sir." 

* * *

In the morning, Skinner woke her and stayed with Mulder while she showered in the nurses' locker room. She brought breakfast in for all of them. Skinner waited until two agents he had summoned from JEH arrived, briefed them and introduced them to Scully. Then he went back to the office himself, reported to the Director, and went home. 

* * *

They quickly settled into a routine. Skinner and Marrinaccio split the evenings and nights and Scarborough rotated his people outside, moving more than fifty men through fourteen posts outside. Scully stayed with Mulder, trying not to pace. 

After five days of waiting and resting, too distracted by the tension to think about other cases, Mulder was finally deemed ready to start his physical therapy. Scully stayed in his room, detailing their two daytime HRT agents to cover him in the halls and in the workout room. He was exhausted when he came back and Scully watched him till he fell asleep; a matter of moments. Then she settled back into her chair beside the bed to catch a nap, herself. 

They were awakened by excited conversation outside in the hall. Mulder frowned worriedly at the door, which was ajar only an inch or two. Scully stood up, drew her Glock and moved to stand between her helpless partner and the unknown. 

When the door opened she raised the weapon only to recognize AD Skinner who was grinning widely. She lowered her weapon, puzzled. She had never seen the man smile like that. 

"Sir? What's going on?" 

Skinner stood in the door and grinned at her and her partner. "I just sent Scarborough and his men home. It's all over. Galen Garay is dead." 

Scully fought against lowering her guard. "What makes you think so, sir?" 

Mulder stared at the AD, waiting. 

Skinner's smile got even wider. "Information from the Alexandria PD is that Garay was shot to death this morning burglarizing a home in their jurisdiction." 

Mulder swallowed hard, and Scully frowned. "Burglarizing a house? That makes no sense, sir." 

"Actually, it does," Skinner grinned. "The address was 2360 Hegal Place, apt 42." 

"He was burglarizing my apartment?!" Mulder spoke for the first time. 

"Actually, from what information we have from the PD, he'd apparently been living there for several days. He'd brought in the mail and the papers, and no one thought it odd when they heard the TV." 

"So, who shot him?" Scully asked as she let herself relax a little, sitting down on the end of Mulder's bed, by his good leg. 

"A Viet Nam veteran named Melvin Frohike." 

Mulder shouted his laughter. 

Skinner eyed him. "I take it you know this person." 

"Absolutely," Mulder nodded. "He's the one who picks up my mail and feeds my fish when I go out of town." 

Skinner nodded. "That's what he told the cops." 

Mulder sobered suddenly. "He's not in trouble, is he?" 

Skinner shook his head. "No. He is licensed to carry and the weapon he used a Glock Model 22 is legally registered to him. Apparently he and two friends of his..." 

Mulder nodded. "Byers and Langly. They all live together." 

"Uh... yes. The building manager confirmed that they were friends of yours and entitled to unlimited access to your apartment; when they opened the door, Garay fired at them and hit Byers." 

"Is he all right?" 

"He's in good condition, expected to be released day after tomorrow. Bullet caught him high in the chest but didn't break any bones or damage anything vital. He was very lucky." 

Mulder nodded grimly. "He is. Go on." 

"Langly ran for a phone and called 911. Frohike ordered the shooter to surrender, announced a citizen's arrest. He admits he was more than a little crude in his vocabulary choices but insists that his meaning was clear." 

Mulder nodded, again. "Fro' is very clear when he wants to be." 

"He made sure Byers was out of range and then went into the apartment. Garay took cover in the kitchen. They exchanged fire and Frohike killed him." 

"Where's Frohike?" Mulder asked tentatively. "He's not being charged?" 

Skinner shook his head. "No. Even in Virginia, self-defense is legal. And Garay had already shot Byers and threatened to kill Frohike. His actions were putting all the residents at risk: the apartments all around them were occupied. Frohike said that Garay was shouting that he would kill everyone, and he fired toward the sound of a crying baby in the next apartment. 

"When Alexandria PD showed up a dozen officers and a lieutenant they came under fire. Frohike was inside the apartment, behind the couch, and he provided cover while the police entered the apartment. Then he stood down and let the officers handle it. Garay was still alive when they got to him but was DOA at the hospital." 

Scully sighed. "You mean it's really over?" 

Skinner nodded. "It's over. Another case successfully wrapped up." 

"And Frohike's not being charged?" Mulder asked for the third time, clearly worried. 

"No," Skinner shook his head. "He kept the suspect pinned until law enforcement could arrive, he shouted at the neighbors to evacuate the fourth floor and most of them did. He offered covering fire for the police when they arrived and then backed off and let them handle it. He did everything right. He's making his statement at Alexandria PD HQ and he'll be notified when the inquest is scheduled." 

"How are they sure that Mulder's friend is the one who killed him?" Scully asked, puzzled by that apparent certainty. 

"Last thing Garay said was a muttered curse against the 'ugly little dwarf' who'd shot him," Skinner manfully hid a grin at that comment. "Certainly the finalization of the responsibility awaits the post-mortem and ballistics tests." 

Scully turned toward her partner. "Mulder, when am I going to meet these friends of yours?" 

"Never, if I can help it." 

"Mulder!" 

Skinner relaxed a little and let himself smile a little. Their banter was always fun to hear. "You two just relax. You did a great job on this one and now it's all over. Time to take a break. You're both off-duty, now, until I say otherwise." 

"Yes, sir." Scully noted that Mulder did not agree. She turned to face him. "Mulder...?" 

He pushed the button to elevate the head of his bed. "There's a couple of hours till dinner time, Scully. Pull up the next case." 

The End

#### If you enjoyed this story, please feed the author.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title: **Friends**  
Author: Wylfcynne  
Details: 151k  ·  PG-13  ·  Standalone  ·  12/31/05  ·   Email/Website      
Gossamer Category(Keywords): Story   [UST, Friendship]     
Characters: Mulder, Scully     
Pairings: Mulder/Scully   
SPOILERS: Beyond The Sea   
SUMMARY: Mulder is still flat on his back recovering from   
the gunshot wound. We wouldn't want Scully to be bored,   
would we? 


End file.
